


An Eberron Tale: Mourning Touched

by The_Outsider



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drama, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Eberron (Setting), Fantasy, Gen, Khorvaire (Eberron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28238601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Outsider/pseuds/The_Outsider
Summary: A story set in the world of Eberron that follows two Cyran refugees as they have survive on limited resources, living at the mercy of those that were once their enemies, and encounter those that still harbor grudges from a war of succession that has been going on for a hundred years.The story starts on the day before the Mourning; the magical catastrophe that wiped out a nation.
Comments: 38
Kudos: 5





	1. Eston

Drake put down his pen and began to double check his answers, while also being careful to not smudge the wet ink. He wouldn’t get everything correct, but he felt comfortable in that he would pass with a very good margin. After correcting a couple of grammar errors (his hand had a bad habit to skip words not crucial to whatever thoughts he was putting to paper) and waiting a bit more for the ink to dry, Drake quietly shuffled together his papers and got up. Some seated nearby looked up briefly with slightly curious glances before returning to the exam. 

Behind the front desk at the center of the auditorium sat old Professor Damian Cannith; an old man with a bald top, clean grey hair stretching around the sides of his head and a face that seemed to be stuck in a slightly disapproving frown. Professor Cannith adjusted his small round glasses as he looked up at Drake approaching. 

“That was quick.” Despite his apparent old age his voice had managed to keep some of its youthful strength. Along with an authoritative tone that wouldn’t be too out of place in the military. His hands also had some youth to them as he swiftly snatched the papers from Drake as soon as they got within reach. 

He didn’t for a moment take his eyes off his student standing before him even as he handed the papers to his homunculus floating beside the desk; which wasn’t much more than four mechanical arms attached to a metal orb. It grabbed the papers and quickly and gracefully sewed them together by the right side margin with needle and thread. Once done it put the papers into a large envelope and placed it on the inner corner of Professor Cannith’s desk. 

The Professor eyed the lone envelope for a second before his eyes shifted to one of the students slightly to the left behind Drake. Out of a sense of curiosity Drake threw a quick glance over his shoulder to see what had drawn the Professor’s eyes. It wasn’t hard to spot as Alestair d’Cannith was openly staring daggers into Drake's back. That young man had already always been insufferable. But ever since it became apparent they shared a father Alestair had been downright hostile. Their lineage wasn’t that hard to miss as both shared a certain stern, inquisitive look and thick, dark brown, oily hair. 

“Drakevion,” said Professor Cannith. “You may leave.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Drake did a quick and light bow to the Professor, gave Alestair a quick glance that then passed over to his friend Gil; a young man with short, neatly combed, black hair and a strong jawline. The poor guy looked to be about to break into a panic. Not helped by the fact that he kept glancing up at the spyglass homunculi flying along the roof and watching all the students. Drake had to suppress a small smirk as he left the auditorium. 

Getting out of the building was like removing weights from his shoulders. The air outside was fresh and cool, invigorating to the lungs and mind. The sky above the academy had the familiar iridescent sheen from the magical dome that made sure all winds in the city were soft. Which was especially pleasant during this time of the year, as even though the snow had melted the cold winds of winter still lingered over the land. 

Drake wandered through the campus towards the edge where he leaned on the railing. Situated on a tall hill overlooking much of the city the academy had a pretty good view. From the great Cannith forges in the east to the vast farm fields in the south and everything in between. The Steel Gardens lay at the foot of the hill between the academy and the city. Trees like silver and bushes like bronze glistened in the afternoon sunlight, sometimes giving off colorful sheens as they reflected the dome above. The Clockwork Menagerie lay beside the gardens rising up in a series of glass and steel towers filled with brass cogs and gears turning rhythmically around their axes. Bridges of glass connected the towers to each other and to the academy. The three largest towers had large clocks: one facing east, one facing north and the other facing south. Above the city’s rooftops flew a few skycoaches; boats with sails like the fins of a fish. 

Despite having seen the spectacular view almost every day for more than a couple of years it still had a feeling of unreality. Like it was a dream. That Drake would wake up to a reality where he had not been accepted into the academy. Where he was at best studying to be a magewright and at worst an accountant. Even with the Mark of Making he still had the doubt lingering in the back of his mind telling him that he didn’t belong. That he would fail and get thrown out. 

“Hey!” Drake looked over his shoulder to see Gil coming towards him. “I thought we were to meet at the Smoldering Tankard.”

“Oh sorry,” said Drake. “I was just lost in thought.”

“Wondering what you’re gonna do once you’re a d’Cannith?” A mischievous smile crept onto Gil’s face. 

“Not really.” Drake averted his eyes out towards the city. 

“Still no reply on the letter?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry. It’s been what? A week? They just need the time to set up the paperwork.”

Drake didn’t reply and his eyes remained on the city. 

“What is it?” Gil tried to sound unbothered but he couldn’t hide the worry in his voice. 

“It’s just…” Drake paused as he tried to collect his thoughts and find the right words. “It feels… wrong somehow. To be a d’Cannith.”

“Why? Because you’d share a name with that cog grinder Alestair?”

Drake let out a brief, halfhearted chuckle. “I think I can handle his rusted ass. No it’s… The man who sired me... He abandoned me and mom. Now I’m to abandon the name of the man that… actually took care of me… for the name of that man.”

There was a long pause as the two stood there before Gil said, “I get it,” in a solemn tone. “Anyway. Shall we hit the Smoldering Tankard?”

“Yeah. I could use a drink.”

The two made their way on the wide yet winding stairs down the hill and through the Steel Gardens, where squirrel, bird and even a couple of fox constructs moved around in and between the silvery trees. Most of them stopped briefly and stared at the two passerbys before returning to whatever it was they were doing. Past the Steel Gardens was the plaza. A few skycoaches were docked at the designated landing zone. In the middle of the plaza was a great fountain with statues made of gears and marble. At the top of the fountain stood a statue of a Cannith artificer holding up his hand where the Mark of Making was inlaid with gold in the palm. There was a myth that if one gave the artificer statue a broken item it would mend it, just like a person with the real dragonmark would. Besides the artificer was a miner holding a pickaxe, a mason with a chisel, an architect holding scrolls and measuring tools. Below them were several statues in togas holding amphoras from which water flowed. As Drake and Gil walked past the fountain the statues waved at them. The artificer at the top held out his hand towards them and for a moment Drake thought he felt his own mark grow slightly warm. Though he dismissed it as mere imagination brought on by his mind wanting to feel something.

On the opposite side of the plaza, near the main street going through the city, was the Smoldering Tankard. Above the door was a large tankard in steel spitting out a never ending stream of black smoke that never got more than a few feet up in the air before fading away. The inside of the tavern was quiet as the place was almost empty of patrons. 

The two students sat down at the bar and ordered some honeyed ale. Something some people argued was just a copy of Karrnath mead and thus should not be drunk by any true Cyran. Even if it was an imitation, it didn’t really bother Drake. The ale was clearly not made in Karrnath. And if it’s good, why not steal it? 

The ale was served in glass tankards with an engraved sheet of steel encases in the glass, and enchanted to give off an illusionary smoke as to look like the one above the door outside. The smoke faded as the glass tankards came closer to being empty. 

“So did you decide on an answer? About Lycia...” said Gil as he finished his first tankard, causing the smoke to cease completely, and ordered a second smoking full. “Don’t give me that look. She just wants to meet you. She keeps grinding my gears that I haven’t set her up with you.”

Drake remained quiet as he stared down through the thin smoke at the thin layer of ale at the bottom of his tankard. The mark had given an edge in the marriage market. He wasn’t enough of a romantic to feel that bad about it. Yet he had that doubt in the back of his mind that it was setting up as something greater than he was. That using it he would set expectations he would fail to meet. But if he didn’t risk failure, how would he ever succeed?

With one quick swig Drake emptied the tankard and turned to Gil. “Alright. I’ll meet her.”

“Good. Drop by my house tomorrow and get it over with. That way we got the rest of the week off for ourselves.”

“What was the next course? Weapons and armor training?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Hmm.” Drake raised his hand and ordered a second ale. 

“At least you’ll get to dodge the draft.”

“If I become a Cannith.”

“Which you’ll be. Trust me. It’s better if you are.”

“Don’t want me by your side in the trenches?”

Gil went quiet for a second. “I do. I just don’t want to drag you - or anyone - with me.” There was a short pause where Gil took another gulp of ale. “Don’t worry. I’ll be an academy artificer when the time comes. They won't waste me on the frontlines. They’ll put me in the back fixing up warforged.”

“Well here’s to being a glorified repairman.” Drake raised his tankard. 

“For Cyre and the Queen!” Gil raises his tankard and the two toasted. After which they began to shug the ale as fast as they could. Gil emptied his tankard first and a few seconds later Drake finished his. 

The bar was slowly beginning to fill with more patrons as people began to get off work. Drake still had a bit of a thirst but decided against going for a third. 

“I guess I’ll call it for today. Didn’t bring that many sovereigns.” 

“Don’t worry. I got a couple of galifars.”

“Save them. Let's drink after tomorrow.” Drake placed a silver sovereign besides his empty tankard as he stood up from the stool. “Don’t wanna look like a hungover fool tomorrow.”

“Aw. And here I was hoping you’d look just like that.” Gil paid for his drinks, got up and the two began to leave the bar. “Two birds in one stone. I get her off my back and I won't have to worry about you smooching my sister.”

“If you want I can just turn her down.”

“No! If she as much as suspects I had a hand in denying her a chance with a d’Cannith she’ll never, never let me forget about it.” There was a short pause as Gil calmed down. “Just meet her. Be yourself. And things will fall where they will.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “But make sure to keep it in the pants. Once she’s set her mind on something she’ll do whatever she can to get it.”

“Well… tomorrow sounds interesting.”

“Yeah… Anyway… I’m gonna take the skycoach back home. You wanna catch a ride?”

“Sure.”

The plaza’s landing zone was starting to get busy. Gil hired a skycoach that dropped Drake off at the southeastern outskirts of town before continuing to Gil’s family home outside it. 

Drake's home was above a cozy little corner café that his mother ran. She generally took care of the baking while his half-sister Nyl (short for Nyllestra) generally took care of the serving. Almost all the tables inside were occupied with customers enjoying pastries with various herb teas. Nyl was busy trying to clean up a couple of tables and was stacking a few too many cups on each other.

“Want some help with that?” said Drake. 

“No thanks I-” As she spoke the top two cups fell from the stacked tower and crashed into the ground and shattered into hundreds of pieces. “You made me lose concentration.”

“Right…”

“Fine… I could use some help. Would you please fix this?” She gave him a brief disingenuous smile before leaving for the café kitchen. 

There was a desire to mutter and grumble but there were customers watching. Instead Drake knelt down and fished up his two lodestones from his inner coat pocket. He held them in his hand using his ring and little fingers while reaching out with his three others. The mark on the left side of his chest swelled with soft, warm energy that flowed forth like a stream of through his veins to the magnets in his hand and then to his fingertips. He sensed an invisible force at his fingertips that his instincts told him was linked to one of the cups. As he spoke a draconic word he had never been taught he slowly twisted his hand as he closed the three fingers together at the tips. The pieces of the cup began to slowly move towards each other, at first slowly and then faster and faster. As if time was unwinding itself the cup reshaped itself at the floor. Good was new. 

Fixing up the second cup was as easy as casting the little spell a second time. With that he picked them up (one in each hand rather than stacking them) and went to the backroom where his mother worked. 

Nyl was busy brewing some tea while his mother was cleaning the plates using some magic with an oaken wand. While occasionally throwing a quick eye at the oven where a dozen spiced apple pastries were being baked. 

Drake's mother had dark blonde hair tied up in a ponytail and wore a green dress with a grey apron. Nyl looked quite a bit like a mid teen version of their mother but with a brighter shade of blonde, rounder cheeks and cheerier eyes. She wore the same type of dress as her mother but without the apron. They really made Drake look a bit gloomy in comparison as he wore the steel grey coat and student uniform of the academy. 

Drake placed the two cups on the bench next to his mother. “Can I get 50 sovereigns?” he asked. “For tomorrow.”

“Gonna buy more drinks with them?” She tapped her wand on each cup, said a word and a translucent, blue energy field flowed from the wand’s crystal tip to cover the surfaces of each cup. After the magic faded back in the crystal the cups were shining. 

“Not exactly… Gonna meet… a girl tomorrow.”

“Who is she?” Nyl interjected with gleeful curiosity. 

There was a short pause as Drake turned his head towards Nyl. “Gil’s sister: Lycia.”

“Lycia ir’Tylein? Fancy. I heard she’s quite a bitch. Scared off her last suitor.”

“Nyl!” their mother exclaimed. 

“What?” Nyl put on that innocent and surprised look she had used since she had learnt what lying was. “It’s just what I heard.” She turned to Drake so fast he recoiled a little. “You should bring her here. I can play the violin for you two. I’ve been practicing this new piece I think could work for a romantic date.”

For a few seconds Drake only gave her a curious, silent stare. “I don’t think I’ll bring her back here.”

“You don’t know anything of romance.” Nyl crossed her arms and pouted.

“Let your brother make his own mistakes,” their mom interjected.

“I like the bout of confidence I’m getting,” said Drake and gave them both a quick frown. 

Their mom looked at Drake and was about to say something when a pling came from the café room. She turned to Nyl and gave her a quick nod in the café room’s direction and Nyl quickly left. Turning back back to Drake she gave him a quick look over before drawing a short sigh. “I’ll give you 50 sovereigns for tomorrow. Though watch what you’ll spend them on. And I don’t think they’ll be enough to impress a girl of her standing.”

“Can I get more then?”

“No.”

A small sigh of disappointment escaped him. “Alright.”

“How many glasses did you have?” she asked as she went to remove the pastries from the oven. 

“Two.”

“Then you can fix dinner today. And be sure to make enough to leave some for your dad.”

“Stew it is then.”


	2. The Storm

After allowing himself to sleep in and have a late breakfast Drake dressed himself in his finery; a nice set of clothes with puffy trousers and sleeves, colored green, red and gold. Only the shirt was glamerweave and depicted a moving pattern of cogs and gears turning that occasionally caused magic winds to blow across the fabric, changing the pattern layout. The pattern moved faster and slower with how fast or slow the wearer moved. In terms of jewelry he had a plain silver chain necklace with an amulet depicting the Mark of Making, silver buttons, and a nice gold brooch to hold the side cape over his left arm in place. To top it all off was a pair of thin, black leather gloves with silver thread embroidery. No self respecting Cyran would show themselves outside without gloves. 

All in all the outfit was on the more modest side of Cyran fashion, though hopefully Lycia wouldn’t mind. Drake viewed himself in the mirror and tried to correct every faulty detail that he could find. After a while it seemed like that strand of hair or that wrinkle on his trousers wouldn’t stay fixed and he gave up. 

He bid his mother and sister goodbye for the day and started his walk out to the countryside. It would be about twenty minutes walk to the ir’Tylein’s home, and would bring him outside the city’s protective dome. After about ten minutes he could see their estate standing atop one of the flatter and wider hills outside Eston. It wasn’t the largest mansion he had seen but it certainly had more than enough room for a large family and a couple of servants. A brick wall surrounded the foot of the hill and the only way inside was through a large metal gate some hundred feet off the main road. 

Drake stopped for a brief moment to gather his courage. As he did he heard something roaring in the wind, something that almost sounded like dark wailing. Looking around he saw in the distance beyond the ir’Tylein’s estate and along the horizon was a large, grey, ominous cloud that stretched from the ground to the sky. It looked like some kind of strange storm and it was billowing towards Eston at an alarming pace. Being outside the protective dome he’d surely be thrashed by that storm. He started to make his way towards the ir’Tylein’s mansion with even faster steps. 

As the storm grew closer he noticed something strange: the large wall of smoke had humanoid faces shifting in and out of the clouds. Each one looked to be screaming in pain and sorrow. Fear gripped him and chilled him more than the frigid wind. Drake began to run as fast as his legs could carry him. 

The ground shook. At first a few small quakes that were barely noticeable. A few seconds later the ground erupted into a thunderous earthquake. Drake fell forward and barely managed to catch himself on all four. The ground continued to shake so violently that when he tried to get up he fell down on his side. Screams of panic could be heard from the ir’Tylein mansion. The storm grew closer and its loud winds almost drowned out the screams. The ir’Tylein house was beginning to break down. The large, dead grey fog swallowed the house and the screams came to an unsettling and abrupt stop. A couple seconds later the fog swept over Drake and he felt the air get sucked out of his lungs. Filled with panic he desperately tried to draw the air back down. It hurt. The air burnt his throat and lungs. It was like breathing in a cloud of tiny, heated glass shards. He coughed hard and tried to draw another breath. It still hurt but he managed to keep the air in his lungs a little bit longer before he coughed again. 

For what felt like several minutes all he could focus on was his breathing. The thunder of the earthquake became background noise. How the air seared his throat and lungs. But for every breath it became easier to draw in the air. When he finally managed to breath almost normally the surroundings had become silent and still. His vision was foggy and dizzying. 

Slowly Drake crawled onto all four before he tried to stand. His legs were weak like a machine with unfastened axes that’s running low on fuel. First attempt at standing resulted in him almost immediately falling to the side where he barely managed to catch himself with his arm. Second attempt worked much better as he managed to stand up and even take a couple of steps before he fell down on one knee. 

Drake began muttering curses as he tried to gather enough strength to get up and keep walking. It seemed to help a little. At the very least the irritation and anger spurred him on to take one more step, followed by another. 

After wandering for what he felt like must only have been a few yards he stumbled upon the gate leading to the ir’Tylein’s estate. The metal gate was bent and tilted, and had partially sunk into the ground. Drake could do little more than lean against it and chake the bars a little, which did nothing but cause a slight metallic rustle. 

“Gil!” he shouted, making his throat tighten followed by coarse coughing. No answer came. “Gil!” The only sound to be heard was more coughing of Drake followed by the thud of a rock hitting earth in the distance. “Gil!.. Lycia!.. ir’Tylein!” Nothing. 

Several long, dead silent minutes passed before Drake gave up. His vision was finally starting to go back to being sharp. His lungs and throat didn’t hurt as much and his muscles didn’t feel so weak anymore. Instead he felt a sharp itching on the back of his right hand. He ignored it as he began to walk back on the road. Surely the city was still safe. The protective dome was made to safeguard Eston from any storm. Though the earthquake might have destroyed that. Not that he had any better idea on where to go. 

As he walked the road the itching began to appear in spots all over his body. He scratched whenever he could. When he scratched his left cheek he felt something weird. Running a finger over the spot he felt a hard surface, like glass. Even more strange he could vaguely feel his finger when he touched the glass. Panic and fear began to grip him even more. His breathing became more frantic. This was wrong. What was happening to him? 

He picked up the pace and tried to ignore the itching. Occasionally he brought up his finger to feel the glass on his left cheek and it was growing, both out as well as up towards his left temple. Every spot that had been itching was growing some form of crystal formation. Eventually he tore off his right glove to see what it looked like; it was shaped like wild crystal, surface smooth like glass, with a bright green color shifting as if a cloud swirled just beneath its surface. Drake stared at the crystal for a long moment in horrified disbelief before he put the glove back on.

The city was just out of view. He could make out the silhouette of the buildings in the distance through the thick, sickly grey fog. As he drew closer he could see that the town had not been spared. Lots of houses lay half in ruin. An entire district on the left side had fallen into a giant sinkhole. Worst of all it was as dead quiet as the ir’Tylein’s estate was. 

“Mom! Dad! Nyl!” he shouted. When no answer came he fell to his knees. This wasn’t real. It was too absurd to be real. He was just having a bad, drunken nightmare. Tears began to flow down his cheeks. Drake didn’t care to hide the sobs. “Mom… Dad… Nyl…” he whispered to himself. 

“Drake!” he heard a familiar voice shout a bit further down the road. It was Nyl. 

Invigorated with energy he didn’t think he had he quickly stumbled up on his feet and began to run. Beyond some thick patch of fog he spotted Nyl was standing further down the road. She looked scared and confused but otherwise unharmed. When she saw Drake come running towards her she recoiled and froze in shock. But Drake still ran up and embraced her in his arms anyway. His tears still flowed but the sobs quieted down. 

“Nyl…” he whispered. 

“What happened? To you.” Hesitantly she slowly and stiffly returned the hug. 

“I don’t… know.” Drake took a deep breath and ceased the sobbing. “Mom? Dad?”

“Dead… Everyone is…” Her voice broke off as she came close to breaking into tears as well. 

They stood there for a long time in each other's arms in this wasteland of magic wrought insanity. Drake managed to calm his breathing and soon his lungs didn’t hurt at all anymore. When his tears had finally run dry he slowly broke off the hug. “We can’t stay.”

“Where shall we go?”

“I do not know. Away. Anywhere but here.”

Nyl looked around and Drake did the same. The fog made it hard to see far in any direction and beyond a certain distance all that could be made out were shadowy outlines. The city loomed tall like an eerie and tyrannical ghost in the distance. The mere thought of going back to see the devastation filled Drake with dread, but they’d need supplies for their journey. Maybe they could even find and use a skycoach. 

Without a word Drake began to make his way towards Eston but stopped when he noticed Nyl wasn’t following. Looking back he could see that she was deeply hesitant and afraid to go back there. 

“Want to wait here?”

She looked around once more before shaking her head. “No,” she said in a low voice. Slowly her feet began to move and soon she was caught up and walking besides her brother.

The streets of Eston were littered with dead bodies. They had no signs of wounds or torment. It was if they had dropped dead as soon as the storm had hit them. Their unblinking, vacant eyes staring into the distance were especially unsettling. A couple of bodies had some holes torn in their clothes as if something had burst out of them, leaving behind what looked like a web of dark silver. Another had partially sunken down and fused with the paved street.

Piles of rubble littered the streets and alleys, and most buildings were at least partially collapsed. Almost all windows were broken. One building that had fared rather well had still had a skycoach crash into its roof. To their luck their own home was mostly intact. Nyl refused to enter. Drake didn’t blame her. 

Tables and chairs inside the café were knocked over and a few customers lay dead on the floor. Carefully stepping over them and going to the café kitchen he saw his mother lying on the floor in front of the kitchen counter. She lied on her back with her eyes staring unfocused up towards the roof. It was clear she had been in the middle of baking as her hands were white with flour. 

The sight made Drake freeze and a few tears flowed down his cheeks again. He knelt gently down besides her as the sobs returned. An idea popped into his head and he took up his lodestones. It should not work. But with all the unexplainable madness surrounding him he had a small hope that there might be a positive break in reality.

He tried to cast the mending spell a couple of times. Though all in vain as nothing happened. The magic faded at his fingertips as it always did when it found no object to mend. 

As the small hope faded Drake lingered in silence. He wanted to cry but his tear ducts were dry. After a long moment he instead closed her eyes, dusted off the flour from her hands and arranged her arms over her chest. A solemn resting position. The least he could do. 

He continued up to the living area of the house where he took his and Nyl’s old backpacks and went to fill them with food. Opening the pantry revealed some disturbing surprises. Most shocking of all was a piece of dried up meat that had gained large insect legs and crawled out as soon as Drake opened the door. Some hard bread had turned into dirty glass. In general half the food had in some way changed for the strange. The other half seemed fine. What had or hadn’t been changed seemed completely random. 

Once he had both backpacks filled with all the edible food he went back out only to his horror see Nyl’s hands engulfed in dark blue flame. 

“Drake!” She screamed in panic. “I just rubbed my hands together… and the flames just… appeared!” She held out her hands in front of her as she stared at them in shock and disbelief. 

The flame didn’t seem to harm her in any way though. Even her cloth gloves weren’t burning up in the slightest. But as Drake came closer and carefully reached out with his hand he felt the intense heat of fire and quickly retracted his arm. 

“Can you… try to turn it off?”

“How?”

“I don’t know… Try to relax. Maybe?”

Nyl closed her eyes and began taking deep breaths. After a few seconds she opened her eyes to see that the flames were still going. “Come on!” she yelled in frustration. 

Drake took a deep breath himself. “Hold out your arms to the side.”

Nyl did as told. “Like this?”

“Hmm.” Drake took her backpack and held the strap out as far as possible before swiftly putting it around one of her arms. He felt the heat almost burn him but managed to escape unharmed. The second arm was a bit more tricky but now that Nyl knew what he wanted to do she was able to move her arm quickly enough to put the other strap in place. 

“Wait!” she exclaimed. “My violin!” Nyl took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “Forget it. Not worth it.”

Drake gave her an apologetic look. He knew how much that violin meant to her. With a little luck they could perhaps return for it one day. 

With that they started to walk towards the plaza on the other side of town. It was a difficult journey. Some streets had cracked and either sunken down or raised, making some paths inaccessible without a ladder or similar. Halfway on the way the flames around Nyl’s hand went out to boths great relief. 

The plaza was rather intact. The ground had no cracks and the buildings directly connected to the plaza were almost all fully intact. One eerie odd thing though was that the mechanical statues on the fountain were gone without a trace, as if they had simply walked away. 

The landing zone had a few skycoaches lying on the ground and none of them looked to be functional. Both Drake and Nyl went to each of them and tried to find some way to turn them on. Nyl let Drake do most of the inspection as she didn’t have his education. One had had the magic of its dragonshard drained from it. Another seemed to have had the dragonshard explode inside the engine, leaving a mess of gears and glowing dust. His mending spell could fix some of the engine, but not the magical parts needed to actually run it. In the third the entire engine was completely gone, like if it had been teleported away. 

“Seems like we’ll be walking,” said Drake, his voice getting weary. 

“Yeah. Though… to where?”

Drake shrugged as he began to think. “I think I remember the storm coming from the southeast. I guess... northwest?”

“Across Brey River?”

“Probably.”

“To Thrane.”

“Hmm.”

Neither looked all that happy about having to go to the land of religious extremists but it didn’t look like they’d have much of a choice. Without a word they continued to the northwest side of the city and out into the distorted countryside.


	3. Land of Mist

The nightmarish wasteland outside the city was difficult to traverse. The earthquake had destroyed large chunks of many roads. The two siblings were slowed down as they had to climb cliffs, jump ravines or simply walk around whatever obstacle had formed on their path. The most odd one was a large, smooth, solitary spike of dark red glass that looked to have a small white flame dancing within its core. Some roads seemed to even have switched places as one roadsign told them there would be a Gold Dragon Inn up ahead but all they found was a small inn named The Clockwork Oak that had a sign depicting a large tree with a clock in the middle of the trunk. House Ghallanda would never have accepted a faulty sign failing to point travelers to any of their inns. 

Outside the Clockwork Oak on and near the road were large, fleshy pods that seemed to be full and bloated with some kind of liquid. One cart with a broken wheel was practically covered in them. As the two siblings walked by one a hand pressed against the membrane of the flesh pod. The hand had several long, thin fingers evenly spread around the palm. Nyl and Drake picked up the pace and hurried on down the road with an unspoken agreement that the inn was not worth investigating. 

Despite wandering for what felt like hours the sun did not dim. It was like they were stuck in a perpetual heavily clouded day. The cursed mist also prevented them from seeing the sun so they had no way to know which way was west. Still they kept wandering in what Drake hoped was not a circle. Only making brief stops when they had to relieve themselves; tense moments where they could literally be caught with their pants down. At least they could eat while walking.

Eventually they had to find someplace with water as Nyl was getting incredibly thirsty and they realized they had not packed any water. The first village they searched had crumbled and sunk into the ground, and the well pump was twisted into unusability. Here and there some part of a body could be seen sticking up from the upheaved ground. Whenever a wind blew through the village the limbs twitched a little. 

The second village they veered off the main road for was intact. No bodies to be seen anywhere though. No trace of what had happened to the people that had lived there. Perhaps they had managed to survive and were currently trying to leave the mist as well. Drake liked the idea that some people were doing alright given the circumstances; a thought he tried to hold onto even as the doubts piled up in the back of mind. 

The well pump in the middle of the village was thankfully fully functional and after some hard pushing and pulling of the handle fresh, clean water flowed out of the crane. Nyl cupped her hands under the stream and drank as fast as she could. When her thirst was slaked the two switched places so Drake could drink as well. Though not as much as he didn’t feel that thirsty. 

“We should look around to see if we can find a flask,” said Drake. “Water for the road.”

“I think we should leave,” said Nyl, clearly sounding worried.

“Why?” Drake gave her a confused look.

Nyl grabbed his arm and whispered into his ear, “Don’t you see those things?”

“See what?”

“The little… goblins that hide behind the houses.”

Drake looked around and tried his best to focus his eyes but could not spot any creature nor movement. “I don’t see anything.”

Nyl looked around as well. “You sure?”

Drake nodded. Though he could not hide a creeping sense of unease brought on by Nyl’s worry and fear. Putting the arm she held onto around her back he urged her before him as the two started walking out of the village. Step by step Nyl picked up the pace and Drake did his best to keep up. His eyes remained alert and he occasionally threw a glance over his shoulder. Once they had put some distance between them the village he thought for he saw a small shadow peak out behind a house. It was gone within the blink of an eye. If it wasn’t for Nyl he’d thought he’d imagined it. Instead it sparked a disturbing thought that the villagers might not have left after all.

They hurried back to the road and didn’t slow down for a good while as they continued their journey. After some time their pace started to diverge and Nyl began to fall behind. She did not utter any wishes to stop so they kept going and Drake tried to match her pace. But it wasn’t long till Nyl stopped completely. 

“I’m tired,” said Nyl. 

“I’m also a bit tired. But we need to keep going.” 

“No, I mean I need to sleep.”

Drake stopped and looked at her. She had dark bags under her eyes. Though he felt no such need at all. In fact he was about as awake as he had been at noon before the whole catastrophe. Given the amount of time they had spent wandering it must be him there was something wrong with. He pushed that thought out of mind before it could spawn a web of unsettling ideas. 

“Alright,” said Drake as he stopped and looked around. Only twisted wasteland as far as his eyes could see. In the distance to his right he thought he could make out what looked like a sparse forest of dark, jagged spikes coming out of the ground. Some of which looked to have large, twisted hands at the tips grasping towards the sky. At least they were rather far off. “Want to rest here?”

“No. But I guess I have no choice.”

Drake looked around again with the vain hope that he could spot some cottage. Though he had his doubts Nyl would want to sleep anywhere near dead bodies, or whatever the bodies would have turned into. Those flesh pods and that ghost village came back to mind and sent a small shiver down his spine. There was also a strong feeling in the back of his mind urging him that they needed to keep moving. 

“I could carry you.”

“You’re not that strong.”

“True. But you’re not that heavy. Or has that changed?” said Drake with a weary attempt at a vexing grin. 

“Haha,” said Nyl. Her attempt at sounding sarcastic was almost drowned out by how tired she sounded. “Fine. If you feel you can handle it.”

Drake moved his backpack around onto his stomach before Nyl jumped up on his back. If it wasn’t for the dire situation it would have been a fun reminder of how they used to play when they were younger. To Drake's annoyance she was a bit heavier than he remembered. Though he couldn’t help but to wonder if it was only because he was tired from the long march from Eston. 

“You got a few of those crystals on your back,” she said with slight annoyance. 

“I know.”

“Good night,” she whispered as Drake started to walk again. 

“Good night.” 

With Nyl on his back the march became more difficult. But his body seemed to be able to endure it and move on like an old rusty machine that still somehow managed to reliably function. After a while Nyl even began to feel lighter. Maybe whatever had happened to his body was making him stronger. That was until he noticed that Nyl was actually starting to float upwards. In panic he gripped tighter around her legs to keep her grounded. She didn’t wake up, and it seemed to be enough to hold her down. Drake's own steps also became a little lighter as a result. At least one little thing in all this madness turned out to be beneficial. Still his grip on her remained firm as he wasn’t keen on the idea of letting her float away into the sky. 

The dimmed light and dead grey mist over the land remained constant. While difficult he still made sure to keep an eye out for any kind of dangers. They hadn’t stumbled upon any so far. At least nothing obvious and direct. But the possibility still remained. The thought of what would have come out of those flesh pods at that inn still haunted him. 

The land was hauntingly quiet. Suddenly the silence was interrupted by a scream of help in the far distance up ahead. The scream was barely perceptible and it sounded like a young boy. Eventually the scream turned from panic to crying and wailing of agony that after a long minute came to an abrupt stop. Nyl mumbled something but remained asleep. Meanwhile Drake felt the horror of what he had heard flow through his veins like ice. He slowed down and his eyes darted every which way. Even the slightest movement of the mist caused his eyes to snap over to look closer. 

After more walking Drake spotted the shadows of creatures moving off on his left. It looked like some kind of herd of animals. Bulbous and clumsy creatures whose silhouettes were akin to pigs with stunted legs. They were all gathered around a spot in a dirt field and seemed busy with something on the ground. Luckily they didn’t notice Drake as he did his best to swiftly sneak by on the broken road. 

Eventually Nyl stopped floating and Drake muttered a few silent curses as he had to carry her full weight again. Regardless he still kept going. Though the fact that he so far hadn’t felt any need for sleep and barely any hunger or thirst worried him. Had he turned undead? The thought terrified him. Maybe they’d be better off going to Karrnath instead. 

“How are you still walking?” said Nyl all drowsy. 

“I don’t know. Also you were floating for a while when you were asleep.” 

“Really?” It didn’t sound like she believed him, like she thought he was pulling a childish prank.

“Yeah.” Drake's tone however remained serious and weary. “Had to hold on to you or you’d float into the sky. Made carrying you really easy though.”

Nyl didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Breakfast?”

“Sure.”

As soon as he put Nyl down he put two fingers to his jugular to check his pulse. He still had one. So not undead at least. Nyl didn’t notice as she was busy rummaging through her backpack. She handed Drake a loaf of bread and some cheese while she ate the last of their dried fruit. He had no trouble eating it but it didn’t feel that filling despite feeling no real hunger. 

Before they set out again Drake inspected the green crystal on the back of his right hand and on his face. They hadn’t grown any noticeably larger. Though he had gotten a couple of new small crystal outgrowths on his right cheek and one above his right eye. He didn’t want to think on how the rest of his body looked like. 

They continued to wander. The strange sights of the cursed wasteland became less peculiar the more they saw of them. Even though they rarely saw any two things that were alike; the random, strange and disturbing became in and of itself a predictable constant of the land. The only thing that really prompted a reaction was when they spotted a few giant creatures with small, round bodies and five long, thin stick-like legs some twenty feet long walking up ahead. The siblings hid in some nearby bushes and waited for them to move past. 

Around what Drake guessed was mid afternoon (a guess solely based on how many hours he thought had passed since Nyl woke up) they came upon a small river. The water was murky with strands of bright red flowing down it. Nyl had gotten quite thirsty again and decided to try to drink some while avoiding any of the red stuff. She complained a little of the taste but otherwise there were no obvious side effects.

Seeing as it was a river they decided to follow it downstream, figuring it should lead them to Brey River or Lake Arul. Nyl took another nap on Drake's back before they came upon what appeared to be the end of the cursed mist: an extra thick layer of fog where silent wailing faces faded in and out of view. But this time it looked like they were mostly facing away. 

“Nyl…” said Drake with a small sense of relief. Though strangely enough he was also beginning to feel more tired. 

“I see.” Her voice was a mix of fear and anticipation. “Come on. Let's go.” 

The two picked up the pace. As they passed into the thicker fog their vision was cut in half. The faces in the fog were now all around them, silently screaming. Yet all Drake felt was a sapping of his strength and a narrow minded determination to use what strength he had to walk forward. The faces became little more than an annoying distraction. He would make it out. 

Soon they saw the first couple of buildings of a village. Didn’t look to be more than a small fishing village as nets were strung up in a couple of places (one net appearing to be purely for decorative purposes). As they made their way through it they saw the remains of the villagers strewn around here and there. These ones hadn’t had a clean death as their bodies had burst open from the inside and spewed out some sticky blue substance, leaving their open bodies like empty husks. To make it even worse there were tiny creatures slowly crawling around on the ground and on the walls of the buildings: writhing masses of grey tentacles that left a trail of blue slime in their wake. 

Both siblings showed visible disgust and tried to avoid getting close to the creatures. A few tried to crawl closer but Drake and Nyl dodged them and continued at an even faster pace towards the direction of where they thought the beach was. They only needed to find a boat and they’d be out of this madness. As they got what they thought was halfway through the village all the little tentacle creatures began to converge on them. Seeing that they started running. 

“They’re everywhere!” exclaimed Nyl. 

“Just hurry...” Drake tried to shout but his voice was weak. It was as if he was out of breath. 

Soon they saw what could finally be the end of the mist: an opaque wall of fog where the wailing faces looked more solid, but facing away from them. The further Drake got to the shifting grey wall the more exhausted he felt. His legs didn’t want to carry him any more and he began to stumble. Luckily Nyl managed to catch him before he fell and put his arm around her neck as she helped him move forward. 

When he could feel sand beneath his feet his vision was getting so blurry he could only make out vague color differences of what he saw. In the thick fog almost everything became grey and he was effectively blind. When Nyl let go off him he was unable to stand on his own and fell. He hit something that felt like wood but there was no pain from the impact. She said something but the words were too muffled and jumbled to make out. The ground he lied on began to move, then bounce up and down in a slow and rhythmic fashion. 

After a while his vision slowly sharpened and he looked up to see a clear night sky with stars and moon. It was so beautiful. As his hearing returned he could hear the sound of water. They were out. Nyl was rowing the boat as fast she could. Drake wanted to get up and help but he was so tired. Maybe a nap wouldn’t hurt.


	4. Thrane

Drake awoke to the sensation of lying in a bed. That alone was enough that he for a second thought he was back home and it had all been a nightmare. But as he moved around it became apparent that it wasn’t his bed. It wasn’t even a standard bed; it was some kind of simple bed made from a piece of cloth stretched over a wooden frame. He was wrapped in a thick blanket so that the crystals on his back at least didn’t hurt that much as he lied on them. His head lied on a rough pillow made from another wrapped up blanket. 

Drowsily he opened his eyes and blinked a few times till they could focus properly. Slowly he began to sit up. Every muscle in his body ached and all the spots that had crystals felt icky and cold, like they had been smeared with goo that had then been scraped off. 

“Careful!” exclaimed Nyl, who was sitting on another simple bed next to him. “Careful.”

“Where are we?” said Drake, still quite drowsy. His voice was raspy and his throat felt incredibly dry as he spoke. 

“A Thrane refugee camp. Near Angwar Fort. If I remember correctly.”

“So others made it out of the fog?”

“Not exactly. Everyone else here are fishermen that were out on the water when the fog came. We’re the only ones here that made it out.”

Drake lied down and stared up. It looked like they were in a small tent. The dull color and simple but practical design indicated that it was a military tent. 

“Can I get some water?”

“Sure.” Nyl grabbed an old, dented, metal jug that stood on a metal tray on the ground and poured some water into a matching dented steel mug. “Here you go.”

The water was the same temperature as the air: rather cold. The taste was a little stale but it was so soothing to his throat that he drank it all in a few quick gulps. After the mug was empty his throat felt much better yet his voice remained a little raspy. “How long-”

“Two days. Some Thrane soldiers found us when we came ashore. Took us here. There were four others in this tent when we arrived. They bailed to the other side of camp as soon as they saw you.”

Drake chuckled. The tent was small as is. It could fit six people, maybe more, but it would be rather cramped. He almost pitied the Thrane soldiers that would have to share and fill these tents out to the maximum. Now that it was only him and Nyl the place at least managed to be a little cozy. Though he wished they had some kind of little oven for warmth in addition to the blankets. 

Suddenly Nyl looked puzzled and leaned in closer almost intrusively to look into his left eye. “Your eye… The colored part… has-”

“You mean the iris?”

“Yeah, that. It’s turned green. And spiky. Like the crystal.”

“Great…” Drake let out a sigh and lied back down. 

“Also you could use a shave.” 

Running a couple of fingers over his jawline he could feel the short, coarse hairs that was the beginning of a beard. At least it seemed thicker than last time he tried growing one. Though without a mirror he could not check if it looked any good. Not that he had any knife that could rectify that. At least the beard would give a little protection against the cold. 

“At least be glad I managed to get us a couple of extra blankets. Told them if we didn’t I would get stressed and maybe start to _accidentally_ burn things down.” She suddenly looked really excited and mischievous as she held up her right hand. “Look!” Dark blue fires suddenly erupted around her fingers that quickly spread till her entire hand was completely engulfed in flame. “Still don’t know how to turn this thing off though.”

Drake once again let out a chuckle that slowly turned into a laugh. After a couple of seconds Nyl joined in on the laughter as well. It was so relieving to feel the slightest bit of joy again, even if it was over something so small and absurd. 

“Yeah yeah.” Nyl stopped laughing but kept an amused smile. “Laugh it up. I’m now gonna have to walk around with this for an hour or so.”

“When it does turn off, maybe take a note of what you were doing or how you were feeling?”

“I got no paper or pen for that.”

“I meant more of a mental note.”

“That’s more your thing, mark boy.”

At the reminder of the mark Drake removed the blanket and pulled up his shirt to see if it had been affected. It had. The Mark of Making was still where it was on the left side of his chest. Still had the same shape that Drake thought looked a little like a stylized lyre that reached from the lower chest almost up to his shoulder. Though the previously bright green color had turned into bright green crystal. It was smooth like polished glass with no hint of a jagged crystal formation. Smoke billowed beneath the surface like if the mark was a window into another world. 

“Maybe it was the mark that helped you survive,” said Nyl as she looked at the mark with a thoughtfulness Drake rarely saw from her.

“Maybe.” Drake put the shirt down and wrapped himself in the blanket again before he got too cold. “But how come you survived? You have no mark. Also there should have been survivors from the Cannith forges if the mark gave protection.”

The last hint of mischievous joy faded from her face as she averted her eyes and shrugged. 

Drake tried to ponder the madness for a moment without getting anywhere and it only filled him with frustration. Looking back also reminded him of what he had lost: Mom. Dad. Gil. What were his last words to either of them? He couldn’t quite remember. Though they weren’t the words he’d want to be his last for any of them. 

Many dull hours passed as the two waited in the tent. Not wanting to delve into his mind as he usually did when alone Drake closed his eyes and focused his hearing. The camp was for the most part quiet. He could hear people walk around on occasion. Often it was only someone going to take a piss. Barely anyone conversed and when they did it was always brief and with an undertone of hopelessness. 

Drake wanted to go for a walk but Nyl insisted he remained in the bed for at least one more day, seeing as he hadn’t had a proper meal in two days. He got his wish of stretching his legs when he had to visit the latrines, thought Nyl turned out correct when he couldn’t even walk without support. She had to help him walk with one of his arms around her neck. 

The camp wasn't that impressive. Rows upon rows of the same type of dull grey tent. The late winter air was cold and few people could be seen outside their tents. From those that were out it looked like everyone in the camp was a man somewhere between mid teen to middle age wearing sturdy clothes in dulled colors. As soon as any of them saw Drake their look turned to one of repulsion before they ducked either into or behind a nearby tent. Drake knew the crystals made him an aberration, but seeing people shun him as if he was carrying a cursed plague still hurt.

On the way back they saw a young man try to sneak out from their tent with two rolled up blankets under his arm. As soon as he saw Nyl and Drake his face turned to one of disgust and fear before darting away. 

“Hey you! Stop!” shouted Nyl. 

When the man did not as much as slow down she grumbled and hurriedly helped Drake back into bed before going out to find the thief. He felt so useless and helpless as he lied there wondering if Nyl was doing alright. The lack of pillow was also slightly annoying. 

After some time Nyl came back to the tent with one blanket under her left arm while she carefully held out her right hand as it was engulfed in dark blue flame. Her eyes did not meet Drake’s. Instead she looked away with a nasty scowl that even made him a little afraid of her. She dropped off the one blanket on top of him before going back to her bed. The two remained quiet. She obviously didn’t want to talk about it and Drake wasn’t about to ask. 

When the dinner bell rang Nyl left the tent and later came back with two food trays in dull steel with a sorry portion of watery mashed potatoes and peas for each of them. The taste was bland and the meal didn’t even manage to fill his ravenous stomach. 

“This is rusted scrap,” said Drake once he’d finished his meal. “Can’t they have the fishermen do some fishing?”

She glanced towards the entrance of the tent. “These Thranish zealots won't let anyone leave.”

“They think us spies or saboteurs?”

“Don’t think so. They probably just don’t want us ‘flameless’ wandering around.”

After a long moment of silence Drake began to look over the crystal on the back of his right hand. It hadn’t changed since Cyre. Tapping it he could still vaguely feel his finger. Taking the fork he’d eaten with he tried to poke it into the crystal. It hurt a little but he was too weak to do any damage to it with this dull dinnerware. 

“Stop that!” cried Nyl as she stared at him with fear and worry in her eyes. 

“What?”

“You don’t know what that is.”

“That’s why I’m trying to figure out how it works.”

She looked at him with a disapproving frown that reminded Drake of their mother. “I bet it were you artificers that were behind the calamity.”

Drake returned the frown before eventually putting down the fork. Better to let it lie for now. He’d need better tools to hack into the crystal anyway. 

As night came so did the tiredness and desire to sleep, along with a relief that one thing was like normal again. Though as he tried to sleep the things he had seen in the fog came to him. The dead family and neighbors. The shadows in the distant fog. The things of such nightmarish nature it was as if they had been spawned by the depths of Khyber itself. He felt like when he was a child being scared by horror stories. He’d go complain to his mother that he couldn’t sleep and she’d tell him everything was alright, that the stories were made up. After which she’d sit besides his bed till he fell asleep. Though these horrors were real and not that far away. With the corpse of his mother stuck in that cloud of nightmares. Even then he wanted to imagine her sitting next to him then and there telling him it’d be alright. A sweet and comforting lie. 

In the late night he faded from the waking world to the sorrowful memory of his mother and with cheeks wet from tears. In the dreaming world he found himself once more wandering mist-covered wasteland of madness. This time he was alone. Nyl was gone and he wasn’t sure if he was leaving her behind or searching for her. Shadows moved in the corner of his eyes and whenever he tried to look they were gone. After much walking he saw a body lying on the road ahead. Coming in closer he saw that it was Nyl. She lay on the ground staring upwards with dead eyes, much like their mother had. Her mouth was open and growing out of it was the same green crystal that grew on Drake. Somehow he knew in the back of his mind that he had killed her. 

“What have you done?” he heard the voice of his mother scream.

Drake opened his eyes to see the light of a new dawn shine in through the gap of the tent. The realization that it was only a nightmare was a cleansing wave of relief that washed away much of the fear and anxiety that had gripped him. Yet a lingering feeling of unease gnawed in the back of his mind. What was this crystal curse he was carrying? Could it hurt or even kill those around him? Would he have to abandon Nyl for her own good? 

“Morning sleepy head!” said Nyl in a cheery voice as she came into the tent, carrying a metal tray. On it were two pieces of dark, hard bread and the battered jug filled with water. “Breakfast!”

Drake took one of the pieces of bread and tapped it against the metal tray. “You could almost beat someone to death with this thing.”

Nyl chuckled as she filled both their mugs with water from the jug. “Yeah. And they taste like dirt.” 

Drake tried to take a bite but the bread resisted being torn apart. Instead he had to chew on it till his saliva had softened it up enough for him to take a bite. “Tastes more like dried up tree bark.”

“Hmm.” Nyl was only drinking her water. “You can have mine.”

“You sure?”

“I am. I hate this bread. And you need it more than I do now.”

Drake wanted to protest but decided against it. The bread was terrible. He doubted Nyl would even eat it unless she was close to starving. If he wasn’t so hungry he’d maybe even think the same. After the first piece he began to do long dips of the bread into the water just to make eating it slightly more bearable. 

After breakfast they were stuck with nothing to do. The closest Drake got to anything eventful was whenever he went to the latrine, which he could now do without help. For lunch they got nothing and for dinner they got the same watery mashed potatoes with even less peas this time. For the first time in his life Drake missed the peas; a thought so absurd it made a small smile briefly creep onto his lips. 

That night he found himself wandering the refugee camp. Screams could be heard from all around. All the tents were burning in dark blue flame. In the middle of it all stood Nyl, wreathed in flame from head to toe, like she was the wick of a massive bonfire. Her back was turned to him. As soon he called out her name she turned around and a blast of fire shot out towards him. 

Drake awoke once more to the sweet realization that it was only a nightmare. Taking a deep breath he tried to forget the panic brought on by the moment fire came at him. Yet even as his blood stopped rushing the nightmare lingered in his mind. They were both cursed. The long term effects he could only speculate on. The notion that they were a danger to others and each other was a train of thought he dared not follow. Not yet.


	5. The Prefect

“Where are you going?” asked Nyl.

Drake stopped right at the entrance of the tent and turned around. “To see if I can speak with whoever is in charge of this place.”

“Why?”

“Complain about the food,” answered Drake with dry sarcasm and a strong dreary undertone.

Nyl let out a small chuckle. “Well if you can get an extra blanket too that would be great.”

“Will try.”

With that Drake left the tent. His body was still weak but walking without help was now less of an issue. His feet didn’t drag as much and he felt strong by the desire to do something, anything. While he did want to complain about the food the real reason was that the boredom was grinding the gears within his mind from the standstill. The tent was like a prison. Nothing to do but lie wrapped in a blanket and think. Which always inevitably led his mind down paths of thoughts he’d rather avoid. His expectations for a fruitful meeting were low. Even if all he would get was an argument it would be better than lying in bed trying to keep the nightmarish thoughts at bay.

The border between the refugee camp and the Thranish military camp was marked by a pretty wide and deep ditch. The only path directly between the two camps was a narrow strip of ground with a simplistic barricade made from sharpened, wooden poles blocking the path. It was guarded by two Thranish soldiers, each equipped with a chainmail shirt, cap helmet, spear and teardrop shield. Both wore a dull, silver grey tabard with a light blue arrowhead with a silver flame on the chest. The same color and crest was also painted on their shields. 

Drake didn’t know much about the Silver Flame other than that Thrane had abandoned the Sovereign Host for it and made it their state religion. He had a vague memory that Thrane had a Silver Flame in their capital and that they liked to view themselves as better than everyone else for it. The only Silver Flame worshiper Drake had known about back in Eston had been a student from Thrane who had gotten into the academy through his family connections with House Cannith. Drake would have felt bad for the amount of bullying that boy got if he hadn’t been such a pious little gear grinder. Hopefully these soldiers would be more bearable. 

As soon as they saw Drake approach they lowered the heads of their spears and aimed them at Drake. They gave him the same look of revulsion and fear just about everyone else in the refugee camp gave him. 

“Halt Khyber-spawn!” shouted the soldier on the left when Drake came within a few feet of the barricade. 

Drake stopped right at the edge of the barricade and gave the soldiers a dreary stare as he suppressed a desire to give a snide reply. “I ain’t contagious,” he instead said in a calm manner. 

“Cont-what?” 

“I think he means dangerous,” said the other soldier. 

“He may be right about that. But we don’t know what evil this flameless man may be carrying.”

“True. He looks like he was fucked by a Khyber medusa.”

The soldier on the left looked back at Drake and gave a dismissing gesture with his shield. “Begone Cyran! Go back to your tent.”

It took a second for Drake to realize he called him Cyran as the Thranish soldier pronounced it with a soft C instead of the hard C actual Cyrans used. Should Drake correct them? Speaking with these uneducated fools was like hearing the screeching of gravel in a machine. But going back to the boredom inside the tent was still more unappealing. 

“It’s Cyran,” said Drake with the proper pronunciation as he crossed his arms and straightened his back. “And I ain’t going back till I get to speak with whoever is in charge.”

“Well you ain’t getting through here.” Now it was the soldiers’ turn to be irritated. “Unless you want to get speared like a pig.”

“Then I’ll simply stand here till you let me through.”

“Fine. You’ll not last the hour. Standing here isn’t as easy as it seems.”

And thus a literal standoff began. To Drake’s chagrin the soldier was right; standing in the same place for long wasn’t as easy as it appeared. It wasn’t long till the cold in the air began to slowly creep in under his clothes. Worse for Drake was that he still hadn’t regained his full strength yet. His legs complained and began to feel stiff. It wasn’t long before he carefully began to lean on the barricade between him and the soldiers. 

“Hey! No touching the barricade!” ordered the soldier on the right. 

“You only said I wasn’t allowed past it.”

“Get your hands off it!”

“Come on. You two got your spears to lean on.”

“Go find a stick to lean on then.”

“You afraid I’m gonna break it? Even if I did I could probably fix it.”

“Like we’d let you use our tools.”

“Don’t need your tools.”

“You a wizard or something?” asked the one on the left. The notion of the question was enough to put both soldiers even further on edge. 

“Got the Mark of Making,” replied Drake with a weary calm. 

The faces of the soldiers became even more tense. “You belong to one of the Houses?” 

Drake’s first reflex was to tell them no. But in that same instant the realization struck him that he could use the Cannith name to his advantage. There were still qualms about taking the name of his father. In a better world he would be able to choose who he was. But in a better world his mom and dad would still be alive. With them gone he was alone in looking out for Nyl. Better to abandon his parents’ name than fail at taking care of their daughter. Gil was right: being a Cannith was better. 

“I am,” said Drake without really looking the soldiers in their eyes. “I am Drakevion d’Cannith.”

The soldiers remained quiet for a few seconds as they glanced at each other and at Drake. “Think we...” said the one on the left. 

“I don’t know,” said the other soldier.

“I’ll go speak with the Prefect. You stay right here.” With that the soldier on the left walked away and a few seconds later he had disappeared around a tent corner. 

Drake and the other soldier remained where they stood without saying a word to each other. In a couple of instances they gave each other quick, scornful glares. At least their mutual dislike removed any awkwardness Drake otherwise might have felt for the long silence. 

After a few minutes the soldier returned with a slightly weary scowl. “The Prefect agrees to meet you.” He grabbed one side of the barricade, lifted it up and pulled it back enough to make an opening. “Straight ahead. Second on the left. Down the path you’ll see his tent on the right. Marked by the Flame. Can’t miss it.”

Drake gave the soldier a nod and a begrudging “Thanks.” 

The Thrane side of the camp was very much like the refugee side Drake had come from. Same type of tents lined up in the same neat lines. The only difference were the people inhabiting those tents. Not all Thranes wore their armor but pretty much everyone wore the silver grey tabard. If it wasn’t for the cold weather Drake would have assumed they were only showing off their colors. Though he didn’t dismiss that notion either. The atmosphere was less hopeless but more tense. As soldiers saw him they didn’t duck into their tents as much, instead they carefully reached for and rested their hands on their weapons if they had them within reach. For the most part they gave Drake suspicious glares as if he was an enemy. Drake preferred how the refugees reacted to him. These Thranish soldiers made him fear that one step too close to any of them he’d get a spear through his stomach. 

The Prefect’s tent was, as told, not that hard to spot. It was slightly larger than the other tents and had a polished steel sheet cut out in the shape of their Silver Flame emblem. The inside wasn’t much fancier. On the left was the same type of bed Drake and Nyl had, but with a proper pillow. Directly on the right of the entrance was a plain wooden table with a stool in front of it and in a simple chair behind it sat a large man with a burly face. He had short brown hair and a dark stubble covering his jaw. 

Soon as Drake walked into the tent the man scowled. “Sit,” he ordered and pointed at the stool. When Drake sat down he continued, “Show me. The mark.”

Drake hesitated a little at first before pulling up the shirt far enough to reveal the Mark of Making on the left side of his chest. Still green crystal with clouds billowing beneath the surface. 

The Prefect looked at the mark, then at the crystal in Drake’s face and lastly back to the mark again. There was a flicker of movement on his lips as his gaze turned to his desk and he leaned backwards in his chair. The cogs inside his mind were visibly turning. Drake wished he knew which way they were turning. Sitting there waiting for an outcome of an unknown process made him anxious. Yet he remained still and quiet, fearing any input from him would be to his detriment. 

“Let me make a few things clear,” said the Prefect as he straightened his back and turned his gaze back to Drake. The scowl was gone but he still had a subtle look of disapproval in his eyes. “If the situation was different I’d send you to the Cannith enclave in Aruldusk. Don’t want the body of a dragonmarked heir on my hands.” He paused for a second and his face grew tense and his eyes fierce. “But we don’t know what you are. We don’t know what just happened to Cyre. From what little your sister told me it’s worse than any of us could imagine. And both of you - especially you - seem to carry some of that Khyber filth inside you. Right now you should be glad the Flame teaches mercy and that you two have so far shown to be pretty harmless. Because I’d rather deal with whatever shit your House throws my way than risk whatever happened to Cyre spreading to Thrane.”

Now it was Drake’s turn to be quiet as his cogs turned. Every word was weighed. Having an argument as he had had with the soldiers by the barricade became unthinkable. Though the small nagging irritation on how these Thranes mispronounced Cyre still remained. 

“I was gonna ask if we could get better food,” said Drake while trying to keep his voice steady and firm. Not easy as his current default state was tired and weary. “Perhaps let all the fishermen among the refugees fish for all of us.”

The Prefect’s face softened slightly. “Can’t blame you there. Food’s shit. No arguing that. But you get the same food everyone else in camp gets. And I can’t start letting refugees start wandering freely. If I let some of those fishermen out on the water again I’m sure some will try to run away. Find somewhere else in Thrane to land. That’s just more ogre crap I’d rather not be held responsible for.”

“What do you expect some fishermen to do?”

“Find some arms and take to banditry. I’ve seen what desperate people with no home to return to can do.”

“What about fishing from the shore?” 

“The fishermen only brought nets. Wouldn’t work in the shallow waters near the shore.”

There was a short pause as Drake remembered Nyl’s request. “Can I get an extra blanket?”

“You already got one. Both of you. After your sister threatened to burn down the camp.” The Prefect slowly raised his voice in anger before calming down. 

“One got stolen.”

The Prefect frowned. “I shouldn’t have given them to you to begin with. Of course people are gonna try to get one for themselves once they notice. We don’t have enough for everyone to get one extra.”

“I take that as a no.”

“Correct.”

There was a long moment of silence. Just as Drake was afraid he might get kicked back to his tent he had an epiphany. “Can I get a chisel and a file?”

The Prefect’s eyes narrowed. “No. At least not before we got a better idea of what…” he points at the crystal on Drake’s face, “that is.”

“Can’t figure it out by doing nothing.”

“I’d rather get a good cleric to look you over.”

“Shouldn’t be hard for you to find.”

The Prefect did not look happy at that remark. “You think we got a cleric in every tent?”

Drake was beginning to feel the same irritation he had when dealing with two soldiers before. This was Thrane; the theocracy with its precious Silver Flame. Of course they would have clerics. Still Drake did his best to put on a calm facade. “Shouldn’t you at least have a few in this camp?”

“We do. One of them has already looked you over and couldn’t determine anything… concrete.”

“Can I get one of the other ones to look me over?”

“I don’t think that would change anything.”

“Could still try.”

“It would be a waste of their time and energy. Two things better spent on people they can help.”

Drake’s eyes began to carefully look around the room as his thoughts explored various ideas and tried to find a new angle. He couldn’t find any details in the tent that could give him an idea of how to pry this man. The tent was so bare. 

“Maybe-”

“No. I only let you come here because I felt you deserved a fair explanation about your situation. But now I think it’s time you returned to your tent.”

Lowering his gaze in defeat Drake’s eyes noticed the Silver Flame emblem on the Prefect’s chest. At that moment an idea for a plan hit him. It was a long shot but at this point he was glad for any opportunity. Excited to have a plan to think on at all. Something for his mind to work on. 

“Do you have any books on the Silver Flame?”

This caught the Prefect off guard and he became quiet for a moment and his facial expression softened. “I got a book detailing our holy tenets. A shortened version.” The Thranish officer got up, walked around the table and past Drake towards his bed. He opened a small, long chest that stood at the foot of his bed that Drake hadn’t noticed before. Out of it he picked up a small, relatively thin book. The cover was pale blue with the Silver Flame on the front. It appeared to have seen several years of use in the field. “I practically know it by heart. You can have it.” He held the book out to Drake but then snatched it away when Drake tried to reach for it. “If you promise not to burn it just to keep warm.”

“I promise. I just want something to occupy my mind with.”

It was clear it wasn’t quite the answer the Prefect had hoped for but he still handed Drake the book. “I still hope this will help you see the light.”

“We’ll see.” Drake quickly looked over the book more closely. The pages were still in pretty good shape. “Thanks anyway.” Drake was about to leave but stopped as he pulled the tent flap aside and looked back. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Arrun Ghastor.”

“Drakevion.”

With the book in hand Drake made his way back to the refugee side of the camp. This time he noticed that the Thrane soldiers gave him more sympathetic looks when they noticed the book he held in his hands. The Cyrans on the refugee side however gave him deeply suspicious and scornful glares when they saw the Silver Flame emblem. Couldn’t blame them. Thrane was a traitor nation with a hundred years of bloodshed to their name. Thus Drake did his best to hide the book under his side mantle. 

Inside the tent Nyl had wrapped herself into a cocoon with her blanket. She lied facing the entrance of the tent, with only had a small opening in her wrappings through which her eyes could see. She had been crying but now only looked sad and bored. As soon as Drake entered her eyes darted to him and looked him over with dulled curiosity. 

“Did you get anything?” she asked, her voice muffled by the blanket.

“A book on the Silver Flame,” replied Drake in a weary tone as he held up the book so she could see the Silver Flame emblem. 

“They trying to convert you?” She seemed to find the notion funny. 

“They’re Thranes. Of course they would try. And I got an idea about letting them think they can.”

This sparked enough curiosity to get Nyl to crawl halfway out of her cocoon. “Are you gonna become an acolyte?” 

“Pretend to be anyway. The guy in charge wont let me… Well he says I need to be examined by one of their clerics but wont let me be. I’m thinking that if I pretend to be in the process of converting I can get to speak with one of these clerics and get examined.”

“Then what?” Nyl shivered from the cold and wrapped herself up again. 

“I… I don’t know. Maybe get in contact with a Cannith enclave or something.”

Nyl didn’t respond and instead wrapped herself completely in the blanket. No comments or questions. She only went so quiet when she was really upset.

Drake sat down on the edge of his bed and began to wrap his upper body in his blanket to ward off the cold. “I know… But it’s a connection we can’t ignore.”

There was a muffled response from the blanket cocoon but it was too low and jumbled for Drake to make out the words. 

“What?”

Nyl peaked out yet her eyes didn’t meet Drake’s. He had never seen her so sad. “They won’t accept me.”

“We don’t know that.”

“You’re the bastard that they want,” she mumbled with spite. “I’m just some girl.”

Bastard. That gear grinder Alestair used to call him that. “I’m trying to get us out of here.”

“I just wanted a blanket.” Her tone and attitude was grating his already thinned patience from having had to deal with the Thranes. 

“Fine! Here you go.” Grabbing the pillow blanket on his bed he threw it at her. It hit her cocoon and slid down to lie beside her at the edge of the bed, very close to falling off and onto the dirt ground below.

Nyl didn’t even touch the blanket and instead hid under her current one while murmuring something almost inaudible. Drake muttered some quiet curses himself as he lied down on his bed. The lack of support for his head made him want to go over and take the blanket back but he wasn’t about to go back on his actions. She wanted a blanket and now she got it. 

After some time of sulking Drake got around to opening the book. He skimmed through some pages around the middle and put it down. For some reason he wasn’t in the mood to read. 

What if he managed to get in contact with House Cannith and they sent her away? House Cannith had wealth and connections. If anyone could help him with his condition it was them. But leaving Nyl to an unknown fate alone in this world wasn’t something he could live with. For all their differences she was the only real family he had. It would also be a betrayal to his parents. 

When the dinner bell rang Drake took his tray and the water jug, and left. Nyl stayed behind, muttering something about guarding their blankets. The words that Drake could make out were harmless enough but the way she said them also gave the impression she wanted to be away from him. 

It wasn’t hard finding where the food handout was as just about everyone in camp was wandering in one direction. As the other refugees spotted him they gave him wary glances and kept a few feet distance to him. 

“I saw you going to the Thranes,” a voice suddenly whispered behind Drake’s back. Turning to look it was a gruff man with a grim look in his eyes. He had a bushy, dark brown beard with a few grey hairs. On his right cheek was a long, thin scar that was partially hidden by the beard. He was a few inches taller than Drake, which he used to look down upon him. 

“Wanted to complain about the food,” replied Drake with a calm voice despite his blood slowly starting to rush. 

The man let out a brief, hollow chuckle. “Right… And you just happen to come back with a book bearing that shiny fire of theirs.”

There was a brief pause as Drake tried to find the words for a good response. Each tenth of a second he could feel his heart beat faster and faster. “I… asked for something to read. That’s what I got.”

The man leaned in uncomfortably close as he looked into Drake’s eyes. His focus shifted to Drake’s left eye before he leaned back. “Do us both a favor and use it to wipe your ass.”

“I’d rather… not… piss off the Thranes.”

“And I’d rather not see any traitors. Now move! You’re holding up the line.”

Turning back to the line it had indeed moved a couple of yards, though still far from the handout station. There were several long, gear grinding minutes of waiting. Made worse by the fact that he had to endure that man staring down his neck. 

The food handout was just a big pot on a table and an open water barrel beside it. Standing behind the pot was one Thrane holding a big sleeve, and between the pot and the line were four fully armed and armored guards making sure only one person was allowed near the pot at a time. The word “Next!” was shouted with regular intervals by a bored voice. The contents of the pot was much like expected: a watery goo of mashed potatoes mixed with peas. It made a wet, icky and gooey sound as a sleeve of the stuff was smacked down in the middle of the tray. After that Drake quickly dipped the jug into the barrel with water besides the table and left. Soon as he stepped aside there was another “Next!”

Walking back to his tent he tried to avoid looking into the eyes of anyone standing in the line. In the corner of his eye he could see that they were looking at him as he passed by. Most were glances of curiosity mixed with repulsion. Some had pity in their eyes. A couple gave him hateful stares. 

Soon as he was back in the tent Nyl left to get her dinner. Drake ate in silence and managed to finnish the unfulfilling meal before Nyl got back. Neither said anything for the rest of the evening.


	6. The History and Tenets of the Silver Flame - Compact Edition

Screams of agony. Feelings of guilt and hopelessness. Nyl’s dead stare into the distance. They echoed like lingering yet fading memories in Drake’s mind long after he had woken up from another nightmare. Eventually though his lingering fear started to give way to a growing curiosity. Why was he always dreaming about Nyl? While the horrors of what he had seen in Cyre appeared they were never the focus. It was always Nyl and how their changing could be dangerous. Drake didn’t know if dreams could make sense. But there was a pattern in his dreams that had the hint of artificiality. Were the crystals to blame for it? Probably not. They showed no sign of being alive in any way other than being part of his living body. The artificial understone had an air of intent. Someone or something was tampering with his dreams. How and why he had no idea. 

Trying to make sense of dreams felt futile. The details had faded and all he had to hold on to and examine were vague lingering feelings. Drake couldn’t exactly jump back into his dreams and start searching for clues. 

After a long moment Drake snapped back to the material world only to realize he had been staring at the first page of the book Prefect Arrun had given him. _The History and Tenets of the Silver Flame - Compact Edition._ The title was the only text written on the first page. Second page was a chapter index. From what he could gather from the chapter titles the first two thirds of the book were history and the rest was about how to be a good follower. 

Curious about the history Drake started reading from the first page in depth. The first chapter managed to be interesting enough and read more like mythology than history. It told of the Age of Demons when fiends roamed the world unfettered near the beginning of time. How countless holy spirits sacrificed themselves so their souls could form the Silver Flame, to bind the Overlords and push the fiends into the depths of Khyber. Passable as reading material at least. 

The second chapter started the story of the paladin Tira Miron. The text lost the air of ancient mythology and instead became a long eulogy of gushing praise of her endless virtues. Always kind and generous. Always did the right thing and was never wrong. Never stole as much as a cookie. Never told even the smallest lie. Never even played the most harmless of pranks. Was she born a stiff, boring adult? Probably not. No one was perfect. The more likely conclusion was that the book was filled with lies. Drake had expected propaganda but he had hoped it would at least be a tolerable read. 

It didn’t take long before he began to skim the rest of the book. The tale of Tira Miron dragged on well beyond whatever patience he would normally have. If he wasn’t stuck in a camp with nothing else to do he’d have thrown the book aside. Preferably out a window. Instead he trudged on. When he read about Tira’s death and sacrifice to bind an escaped Overlord he felt a sense of relief that her tale may soon be over. Only to find the book going on for another whole chapter about how inspiring she was. 

“This is rusted scrap,” he muttered. 

“What?” said Nyl with peaked curiosity as she turned her eyes towards him. 

“Nothing.”

“Bad book?”

“You could say that.”

“Like what?”

“You really want to hear about this Thranish drivel?”

“Beats counting the stains in the roof for the hundredth time.”

Drake looked up and could only see two faint stains in the roof. Hopefully Nyl had spotted more than that, or there might be cause to worry about her mental health.

“So much of the book so far is them praising their savior paladin. It’s just so… one sided. She’s perfect. I get it. She went through her life being perfect and then sacrificed herself to defeat the big, bad, evil demon Overlord.”

Nyl let out a small laugh. “Sounds like a story written by her fans.”

“Sounds about right. They painted her into this perfect idol.” Drake paused as a realization dawned on him. “Which I now see is the entire point; a role model.”

“Doesn’t sound like it makes for a good story though.”

“That it ain’t. Though it’s called…” Drake had to flip back to the beginning to remind himself of the title. “The History and Tenets of the Silver Flame. Compact Edition. Not exactly a novel.”

“The non-compact must be even worse.”

“Yeah. This one already drags on for too long as is.”

“Can I read it when you’re done?”

“Sure. Just need to find something good so I have a reason to see the cleric.”

“Hmm,” mumbled Nyl and returned to staring at the roof of the tent. Yesterday’s spat came back to linger in the air. He felt he should say something but he didn’t know what. Unable to find any good words he instead returned to the book. 

The following chapters on mercy and charity weren’t that interesting. He found a few points that he could use against the soldiers for how they had treated him. While antagonizing the Thranes using their own religion was rather appealing it was probably not a good idea for his plan. It wasn’t till he came upon the chapter detailing the evils of the world that he found something interesting; more specifically the descriptions of what the book categorized as alien evil (such as daelkyr and demons) and unnatural evil (like undead and lycantropes). Descriptions that didn’t really fit in on him, but were also the closest that did. If he could find a way to prove he wasn’t anything of the sort then the crystals were not evil. 

Getting out of the bed Drake hid the book in under his side cloak before leaving the tent in a slight hurry. When he reached the barricade blocking the path to the Thrane side of the camp the two soldiers guarding it gave him more of a surprised and curious look with only a strong undertone of repulsion this time. 

“I need to see a cleric,” said Drake before they could utter a word. 

“Why?” said the soldier on the left as he gave Drake a puzzled look.

“I need to test if these crystals are of alien or unnatural evil.”

The two soldiers looked at each other with perplexed surprise. The right one glanced at Drake for a second before looking at his fellow Thrane and shrugging. The left one looked Drake over for a bit longer before saying, “It’s probably for the best.” He pulled the barricade aside. “Take the first on the left this time. Her tent is easy to spot. It’s the one with the banners.”

As Drake walked into the Thrane side of the camp he held the book more visibly. Once again the sight of the book was enough to make the Thranes that spotted it not give Drake such hostile stares. He was still clearly a freak in their eyes, but at least less of an unwelcome one that needed to fear for his life. 

The cleric’s tent wasn’t hard to find. It was the same shape as the Prefect’s tent but instead of a Silver Flame in metal above the entrance, two slim banners bearing the Silver Flame crest hung beside the entrance flaps.

“Uhm. Excuse me?” said Drake outside the tent. He tried to peek inside through the narrow slit of the entrance but couldn’t quite make out anything. 

“Who is it?” he heard a mature female voice call out. 

“Drake. A… Cyran refugee.”

“One moment.” It took roughly a minute before the cleric peeked her head out of the tent. She had long, chestnut colored hair tied up in a ponytail and pale skin. For a human she’d be somewhere in her mid to late thirties. Though seeing as she had the slightly tilted eyes and pointy ears of a half-elf she must be older than that. Dangling from her neck was a thick silver chain that held a large silver arrowhead with the Flame engraved on it. Soon as she saw Drake her eyes widened in shock. “Oh dear.”

“Yeah.” Drake lowered his gaze to the ground for a brief moment. “I’ve been reading…” He held up the book. “And I need to know if this,” he pointed at the crystal on his face, “is of alien or unnatural evil.”

Her inquisitive eyes looked over his face for a long moment before she ducked back inside her tent. “Come in.” 

Drake did as told and inside he found the tent to be more cozy and pleasant than that of Prefect Arrun. On the left side of the tent she had the same type of bed as everyone else seemed to have in the camp. Besides the bed was the same type of simple table and chair as Prefect Arrun had. On top of the table were an ink pot, a feather pen, a small pile of blank parchments and an unlit candle. 

The entire right side of her tent was set up as a shrine with a nicely carved table at the center up against the wall. On the middle of the table was an engraved silver bowl filled with sparkling water. Floating above the surface of the water burnt a silver colored flame. For Drake it was rather easy to recognize that it was a form of continual flame, something that was used to light up all the lanterns in Eston. Though all of those had given off a brighter light and looked like normal fires. This one looked to be more stylized in the way the flame danced and it gave off a rather weak light for its size. 

The silver bowl was flanked by two paintings sitting on the table; each roughly one foot square in size. The one on the right depicted a stunning woman with wavy black hair in shining armor unleashing a cascade of fiery silver chains from her body that wrapped around a large, hideous, shadowy demon. Clearly a depiction of Tira Miron sacrificing herself to bind the Overlord. The one on the left was a painting of a pillar of light over a large cathedral. Drake was less sure what that was supposed to depict, but he was pretty sure it was part of all the stuff he skipped when he started skimming the book. 

Apart from the magical flame what stuck out the most was a faint smell of (what he guessed was) incense. It made the tent smell cozy, clean and a little spicy. In a small way it reminded Drake of his mother’s café. 

The woman was a little short for a half-elf, and wore much the same type of simple clothes with a tabard as everyone else in camp. Most notably was that her hands were naked and she didn’t seem to make a move to put on some gloves. Surely she must have at least some simple wool mittens, like those most Thranes in camp wore. Quite indecent. Though maybe the Thranes simply didn’t care that much about their hands. 

“Mother Agelia Ovyion,” she said and held out her hand to shake. 

“Drakevion,” replied Drake and held out his hand but hesitated quite visibly about taking her naked hand. These Thranes were clearly lacking in certain decency. “Most people call me Drake.” He quickly grabbed her hand and gave it a very quick shake before swiftly withdrawing his hand. 

“Not comfortable with touching women?” Agelia seemed to find it slightly funny. 

“No. It’s just… your hands are naked.”

“Naked?” She looked at her hand in slight confusion before a light dawned on her. “Oh. Is that a thing in Cyre? Covering your hands I mean.”

“Uhm, yeah. Any proper Cyran wears gloves in public.”

“What an odd custom.”

“I think that’s a matter of perspective. I find it strange you don’t protect your hands.”

“You’re gonna find a lot of people to be strange then.”

“Hmm. So about the… crystal?” 

Agelia tilted her head a little as she looked over the crystal on Drake’s face. As she did her left hand was subtly rubbing her Silver Flame amulet. “Father Drego told me he gave you a look over before. Couldn’t come up with anything conclusive though.” She briefly averted her gaze and sat down in her chair. “Not sure if I can do a better job. Divination is sadly not my forte.”

“I was more thinking you might try spells that only affect those evil things.”

“Hmm.” Her expression changed to one of contemplation as her eyes moved between Drake and the Silver Flame shrine. “Perhaps… Could you dip your face in the water there?” She pointed at the silver bowl. “It’s holy water. Don’t worry about the flame. It won’t burn you. It’s like an… illusion of sorts.”

Drake looked at the flame, then the cleric and lastly back at the flame before tentatively walking up to it. First he carefully held out his hand towards the flame to make sure it wouldn’t burn him. As expected it didn’t give off any heat. With that checked out he placed himself directly in front of the bowl. Gently he grabbed its edges, closed his eyes and ducked his face through the flame and into the water. The moment the water touched his skin it felt like he had taken a bath, scrubbed himself clean and walked out on a pleasant summer day to feel a soft breeze wash over his face. 

After a longer moment than Drake might have intended he pulled his face up from the sweet bath. Water dripped from his face and gently splashed on the water surface below. Without opening his eyes he reached up and touched his face. The crystal was still there. No smaller than before. He hadn’t expected anything better yet there was a sense of disappointment. 

Slowly Drake turned around and opened his eyes to see Agelia staring at him with a hand over her mouth and much the same thoughtful expression as before. For a brief moment she reminded him of one of his professors back at the academy. 

After another quiet moment Agelia removed the hand from her mouth, shifted her seated position and straightened her back. “How do you feel?” she asked. 

“Like I had a nice bath.”

“A good start at least.”

“What now?”

Agelia got up from the chair and walked intrusively close where she reached up and touched the crystal on his face. Feeling her naked touch his face was too intimate for him. Yet he resisted the desire to take a step back, even as her naked finger ran across the edges of the crystal. 

“Hmm. Is it only on your face?”

“No.”

“Mind showing me the rest?”

“Yes. It’s a bit too cold in here.” Her more informal way of examining him also made him a bit uneasy, but Drake decided against mentioning that. 

“Understandable.” She took a step back. “I need to speak with Father Drego again. I also need some time to prepare some things. Come back tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” It was hard to not feel even more disappointed. Though he remained hopeful as things hadn’t turned bad so far. “Thanks. For doing this.”

“Oh it’s nothing. It’s good that you brought this to me. Far too few people try to be cleansed when they suspect they carry evil within them.”

“Hmm. Goodbye.” Drake gave her a nod and left the tent. 

While the Thranes looked upon Drake with a hint of pity compared to before the Cyrans however gave him ever increasing scornful looks. They whispered to each other from where he could not hear them. Accusing him of colluding with the enemy most likely. The fear he had felt when first entering the Thranish side returned. The Cyrans now gave him similar hostile glances. But this time it was worse. He’d have to sleep with them as neighbors. With a little luck the fear of what he was would keep them at bay. Perhaps also fear of the Thranes. The prospect that he would have to rely on the Thranes for protection from his own countrymen was sickening. Drake wished he could tell them his reasons: that he was using the Thranes because he had no other choice. Would they believe him? Would they even listen? And if they did, what if someone tattled on him to the Thranes? Probably better to keep his mouth shut. 

Once back in his tent there was a sense of relief. It wouldn’t give any real protection, yet its cloth walls managed to give an illusion of security. Nyl lied in her bed, wrapped up in her blanket. Not as a cocoon this time though. 

Drake handed her the book. “Here. Have fun.” After that he lied down and tucked himself in as well. 

It didn’t take long before Nyl started commenting the book out loud; most of it were joking criticisms and suggestions for improvement; ranging from adding melodrama, to crazy action, to inserting the kind of lewd touches and innuendos Drake was a little surprised to hear coming from her. It was amusing to listen to and it didn’t take long before Drake joined in and for the first time in what felt like years they were having a fun conversation. The horrors of the past and the awful situation they were in could be forgotten, even if only for a few precious hours.


	7. The Clerics

The first thing Drake did after breakfast was to head for the Thrane side of the camp. He skipped bringing the book, figuring he wouldn’t need it. It was also better if the other refugees didn’t get to see him carrying it anymore. 

Getting past the barricade was a bit more infuriating this time as there had been a shift in guards, and the new couple of soldiers guarding the passage between the two camp sides were stringent about letting the “Khyber-spawn” through. It took one of the guards going to the cleric for verification before they let him pass. 

When Drake entered the Agelia’s tent he saw another man standing by the far wall with crossed arms. He looked to be in his early thirties, had a rounded and completely clean shaven head and small eyes. Around his thick neck he wore the same type of silver necklace as Agelia. He looked like a man having sand poured over his gears. Drake assumed this was Father Drego. Much like Agelia he didn’t wear any gloves, which - despite knowing now that Thranes didn’t care that much about their hands - made Drake feel as if he had walked in on something private. 

Agelia sat in her chair by her desk facing the tent’s entrance. She looked more calm and thoughtful. As soon as she saw Drake she smiled. “Come in. We were just talking about you.” She gestured for him to sit down on her bed. 

With some hesitation Drake sat down and waited for either of the two Thranes to say something. Instead there was a long moment of awkward silence as they peered at him with pensive eyes. They made him feel like a research object. Drego looked like he would be willing to dissect Drake. Agelia’s eyes instead had a glint of eager curiosity. 

“So…” said Drake when the silence was getting a bit too much to bear. “What now?”

Drego cleared his throat. “Well… We’re fairly certain whatever it is you have it is of no traditional evil.” He paused for a second and glanced at his compatriot as if expecting her to say something. When she didn’t he continued, “When you first came into camp I inspected you to see what magic infected your body. Strangely I couldn’t sense anything. At first. It took me several minutes before I sensed something very faint, a tiny trace of something I don’t know what.” There was another pause as his brow furrowed. “I believe that what you have is a window to whatever is covering Cyre. Right now that window may be closed, but we don’t know what will happen should it open.”

“Which we don’t know,” Agelia added. “A trace can just be that: a trace. Like smudges of dirt clinging to someone that landed in mud.”

“Look at him!” With his left hand he forcefully gestured at Drake. “That’s no smudges! That cursed mist covering Cyre is sweeping around beneath his skin!” He paused as he took a deep breath and calmed down. “I merely think it’s better to be safe than sorry. I’m sure Prefect Ghastor would agree with me on that.”

“So you’d rather walk the path of the zealot and kill him?” Agelia gave Drego a deeply inquisitive glare. 

Drego tried to meet her eyes but could not hold eye contact for long before he lowered his gaze in badly hidden shame. “I merely wish to protect Thrane.”

“I understand. But we should at least try.”

Drego looked conflicted. For a long moment he didn’t say anything nor did he meet her or Drake’s eyes. His right hand kept rubbing the amulet around his neck so hard Drake thought he might bend it. “Fine,” he said in disgruntled defeat. “I’ll try one more time to see what might be wrong with him. After that it’s up to you.”

Drego stepped up before Drake, closed his eyes and began to speak an incantation in a deep and solemn tone. As he did he held his Silver Flame amulet in one hand and began to draw some kind of symbol in front of his own face. Drego seemed to repeat the process over and over, though Drake could not understand the words nor did he bother to follow the gesture close enough to see where it repeated itself. Drake did think he could spot Drego’s fingers drawing an eye somewhere in his gesture. 

After several minutes Drego stopped the incantation and opened his eyes. The black of his pupils were glazed with a thin layer of silver as he stared at Drake. It wasn’t long till he squinted slightly as he tried to look harder. A couple of minutes later he took off the necklace so he could hold his holy amulet up to Drake’s forehead. 

The whole situation was uncomfortable. While Drake knew they were only trying to help he couldn’t help but find the way Drego acted to be slightly intrusive. (It seemed to be a theme of Thrane clerics.) Yet Drake sat still and let the Thranish cleric do his best with the spell. It didn’t take long before Drake’s eyes began to wander in hope to find anything interesting to look at as he waited. A bit hard when he didn’t want to move his head while Drego held the amulet up to his forehead. Occasionally Drake met Drego’s eyes and noticed that the man was struggling. 

When Drego removed the amulet from Drake’s head he hung his head in defeat. “It was even harder this time,” he said, weary and disappointed. “I don’t know how but the trace has faded.”

“Any thoughts on why?” the half-elf asked pensively. 

Drego took a couple of steps back before returning his gaze to Drake. “Normally I’d say the magic is leaving him. But look at him!” He gestured at Drake almost dismissively. “Whatever he has doesn’t look to be fading.”

Drake looked away and out through the tiny gap in the tent’s entrance. He didn’t need any reminders that he was a freak. It became harder to maintain any kind of optimistic hopefulness and in its place anxiety began to grow. Not that he showed it and instead maintained a face of stone.

After a long moment Drego let out a sigh. “I… I might have an idea why though.” There was another pause as both Drake and Agelia looked to Drego with anticipation. “His sister has shown signs of… innate magical capabilities; that of a sorcerer. Innate magic cannot be detected. At least not by means I’m familiar with. It could be that what he has is melding with him. Becoming an innate part of him. And that is why I cannot detect it.”

“So you’re saying…?” she said with badly hidden concern. 

“Whatever happened in Cyre has changed him. Irrevocably. This is his new natural state of being.”

Those words were like a cold bucket of water being poured over the last spark of hope Drake had of returning to normal. It was just an hypothesis of a simple Thranish cleric. He could be wrong. Drake wanted him to be wrong. Yet his words made sense. The crystals had grown out of his body and he could feel them like they were part of his body. 

Like the dark abyss of Khyber had opened up to swallow him his mind grew increasingly distant to the world around him. The two clerics continued to talk but Drake didn’t register their words. A freak. An aberration. Forever marked by the calamity. Was that all he was ever going to be? It felt like the mist had claimed his life a second time; first his life in Cyre, and now the hope for a new life with any sense of normality. 

Drego left the tent and soon after Agelia placed her hand on his shoulder. She looked down upon him with a soft and apologetic smile. It was enough to make Drake slide back into the real world. Yet the hollow feeling of despair remained. 

“Lets try one more thing,” said Agelia with an air of confidence as she clutched her amulet in her left hand and placed her right hand on the large crystal on the left side of Drake’s face. Perhaps he was getting used to this Thranish intrusiveness and indecent lack of gloves, or (more likely) he lacked the will to care as her naked hand didn’t cause the same unease as before. 

Her voice was low as she began to speak an incantation. Her fingers shifted from the crystal, to his forehead and then to his chest. Nothing happened. The crystal remained and Drake felt no difference at all. Upon seeing that she took a step back. Her face was calm but her eyes whispered of shock and disbelief that slowly turned into frustration. 

“You alright?” asked Drake. The irony of him speaking those words was so thick it almost made him chuckle.

“I… I’m fine.” As she sat down besides him she audibly inhaled a deep breath before letting out a heavy sigh. “By the Flame… I wish I could do more.”

Drake sat there in silence contemplating if he should ask for food. He was always hungry now. But it would probably be seen as rude and exploitative after she had tried to cure him. His stomach urged him on but in the end his sense of decency prevailed. 

“Can you… send a message to… my family?”

“You got family outside of Cyre? I mean of course.”

“I’d like to send a message to House Cannith that a dragonmarked heir and the grandson of the Great Gorgon is here in Thrane.”

Her eyes became distant as the surprise of the realization hit her. Her mouth opened but not a sound came out. Soon the shock gave way to contemplation. She looked to be conflicted. 

“I… I’ll need to check with Prefect Ghastor first.”

“He’s already said no.”

“I see.” There was a short pause. “I’ll talk with him.”

“Hmm.” Maybe after this examination the Prefect would relent, though Drake didn’t hold much hope. Instead his thoughts shifted to another old idea. “Can you get me a chisel and a file?”

“I don’t think…” She pursed her lips. “I’ll see what I can do. Wait here.” With swift steps she strode out of the tent. Several minutes later she returned with a basic chisel and file. “Now I don’t think you should do this alone.” She sat down besides him on the bed again, placed one arm around his shoulders while placing the tools in his hands. Their wooden grips had a couple of small cracks and the chisel could use some sharpening. “You could poke your eye out trying to remove the ones on your face. Not to mention hurting yourself in general.” 

“I think I’ll manage.”

“Are you sure?”

It might not be that good idea to take a chisel to his face, but Drake made a mental note that he’d go for those crystals last. “Yes.”

She hesitated before handing him the tools. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.” Drake got up and left. He tried to walk with firm steps and head held high. Yet his feet dragged slightly and his head hung as he stared at the ground ahead of him. A few men on the Cyran refugee side stared at him as they saw him come walking back from the Thranish side. Too deep in thought Drake barely registered their presence. He had the tools he originally wanted. Would they even make a difference? The crystals might just grow out anew. Should he even try? 

When he came back to the tent Nyl was still reading the little book. She glanced up at Drake for a brief moment to see how distraught he was before returning to the pages. “Any good news?”

“Define good.”

“Are you free to contact House Cannith?” There was a subtle undertone of hollowness in her voice.

“Don’t think so. They seem to think what I have is… permanent.”

Silently and carefully Nyl closed the book before turning to look at him. “I guess that goes for me to.”

“Yeah. They said they think you’re a sorcerer.”

Nyl pondered that for a moment before asking, “Which type of mage is that?”

“Innate. Wizards are the ones that learn their magic.”

“They think you’re a sorcerer too?”

“I don’t think I’m a sorcerer. Don’t know what I am.”

“So what now?”

Drake pulled off his right glove to reveal the crystal on the back of his hand. “Gonna see if I can at least get rid of the edges.” To hold the hand steady he gripped his shirt while placing the chisel’s edge at the base of the crystal.

“Please don’t.” Nyl’s expression became worried. “You don’t know what will happen.”

“Only one way to find out.” 

With a swift jab he struck the chisel against the crystal. Soon as the blade hit the crystal Drake recoiled and groaned from the sudden pain. It was like trying to drive a blade into his own skin. The chisel barely managed to damage the crystal, creating only a tiny crack where it had struck. He struck it with another swift jab. When the chisel hit the crack widened a little. The sharp pain became more intense with each strike of the steel against the crystal. 

“Stop it!” screamed Nyl. “You’re hurting yourself.”

“It’s… fine,” said Drake in a strained voice. 

With each jab the crack on the crystal became larger. As it grew so did the pain. Drake’s breathing got heavier with each strike. But he did not stop. The cursed crystal needed to be removed. As much of it as possible. The crack was too large to turn back now. Better to just hack off as large a piece of it as he could. 

When he got about a quarter of an inch into the crystal the crack spread through it and the crystal was split in two. The loose part fell from Drake’s hand down to the ground where it landed with a very light thud. 

As if waiting for a storm to burst from it Drake and Nyl stared at it for a very long and tense minute. Yet nothing happened. The crystal remained still and unchanged. It was still green with mist blowing beneath the surface. 

Drake and Nyl shared a glance before returning to stare at the piece of crystal. Slowly Drake reached down and picked it up. He could no longer feel the crystal as if it was part of his hand. Yet he could feel that there remained a strange and immaterial connection. Curiously he tapped the crystal with his finger. Nothing. With great caution he placed the piece back where it had been on the back of his hand. Nothing happened, but as the piece lined up with the jagged plateau remaining at the back of his hand he could see that the mist beneath the surface continued to move as if the crystal was still whole. 

“Happy now?” said Nyl.

“Not yet.”

Drake put the crystal in his pocket and began to use the file on the remaining protrusion of crystal on the back of his right hand. It hurt but not as much as the hacking had done. Trying to put on a stony and calm expression was hard and Drake could only imagine the contorted and painful face he was making. The way Nyl looked at him with such disgust told him he must look horrible. She could only bear to look upon him for so long before she lied down facing away as she wrapped herself up in her blanket.

Drake could only file away the sharpest edges before all his energy was spent. His hands were shaking. The hunger that had for the most part been a subtle yet constant background irritation was now a growling beast screaming for food. The time was somewhere before midday and dinner was several hours away. 

Looking over the crystal it now had a semi-smooth shape so he at least didn’t have any real difficulty putting the glove back on. After which all he could do was lie down and rest. Too exhausted to do anything else. 

When dinner finally came he trudged towards the line while Nyl stayed behind to guard the tent. Standing in line became even more unbearable this time. He needed to eat. Couldn’t they hurry up a little? As he was getting more impatient someone cut in front of him. Before Drake could say anything the man turned towards him; it was the grim man with the thin scar on his cheek. He looked furious.

“Why are you still running to the Thranes?” He spoke in as hushed a voice as his anger would let him.

“I tried to get this fixed,” said Drake with anger and bitterness rising in his voice as he pointed at the large crystal on his face. He was too tired and hungry for this. 

“Well it obviously didn’t work.”

“No, it didn’t. So what do you want?”

The question took him off guard enough that it took a couple of seconds before he could answer. “I want you to stop dealing with the enemy.”

“We’re sleeping in Thrane tents. Eating Thrane food. We all live at Thrane mercy. I don’t like it but that’s how it is.”

“The rest of us don’t go to the Thranes.”

“You go to the Thranes for food. Otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here. Now move! You’re holding up the line.” Drake tried to push the man out of the way but in his weakened state the man stood as firm as a rock. 

“Are you calling me a traitor?” 

“No more than me. You’re also-”

“I’m nothing like you, traitorous Khyber-filth!”

The man raised his hand and brought down a fist on Drake’s face. It was strong enough to make Drake stumble. Another blow hit him in the back from behind and he fell to one knee before weakly managed to catch himself with one hand. The grizzled man threw another punch and then another. One or two more men that Drake couldn’t quite see joined in on the beating. The blows were too strong to withstand and Drake fell to the ground. But even while downed the men did not stop. Kicks and stomps rained down upon Drake’s body. All he could do was try to curl up and block the blows with his weak arms and legs. 

“Hey you! Stop that!” shouted the authoritative voice of some soldier in the distance. 

The kicks did not stop. They continued to hail down on Drake till suddenly they didn’t. Drake stayed curled up out of fear that this was a ruse and that the attack would continue if he lowered his guard. Eventually he felt a foot press against his stomach that tried to push him over onto his back. He resisted and curled up even harder. The foot pushed on him again. 

“Get up you dirty Cyran,” said a Thrane soldier from above. When all he got in response was groan he poked Drake with the foot again. “I said get up!” After a moment of no response he muttered, “Have it your way,” before leaving. 

Exhausted and bruised to the point that his entire body ached Drake couldn’t find the strength to get up and as such remained on the cold, dirty ground. None tried to help him. Everyone simply walked past him on their way to get their food. He remained down for so long that even the ground started to feel slightly comfortable. 

“Drake? Drake?” It was Nyl’s voice whispering to him. He felt her hands grab his arm and pull him up to a seated position. “What happened?” 

He tried to speak but all he could do was whisper. “Nyl…” Any other attempt at speech came out as a lowly groan and a whimper. 

“By the Host.” She put his arm around her neck and helped him up. It was difficult for her but she somehow managed to conjure up the strength to drag him back to their tent. 

Inside they saw that their blankets were gone and the beds smashed and cut open. Nyl cursed and Drake felt weights of guilt appear around him. This wouldn’t have happened had he not gone to the Thranes. This mess was his fault. 

Nyl put him down on what remained of his bed so at least wouldn’t be lying on the ground. Once more he couldn’t do anything but lie helpless as she stormed off after some perpetrator. He wanted to tell her she shouldn’t. That it would only cause more trouble. But his voice was too weak and Nyl too fast to leave. A few minutes later he heard screams in the distance.


	8. A Dark Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to change the rating to mature given some allusions in this chapter. I feel I've already been skirting the line as this story is pretty dark. I feel acknowledging that this story is for mature audiences will also allow for a more honest telling of this story.

The air was cold enough that Drake’s breath came out as a frosty mist. It reminded him of the mist covering his home: Cyre, Eston. So many dead. He wondered if he was on his way to join them as the two Thrane soldiers dragged him by the arms through the camp, his feet dragging behind through the trampled up, cold dirt. 

They dragged him to the Thrane side of camp, past the barricade and then down the second path on the left. Even in Drake’s beaten up and exhausted state he remembered enough to know where they were taking him. The Silver Flame emblem in steel above the entrance of the Prefect’s tent glistened from some distant light. 

Inside Nyl was sitting on the stool with her hands shackled behind her back and a cloth gag tied around her head. Soon as she saw Drake her eyes widened and for a brief moment it looked like she was about to get up but then stopped herself. Behind her stood two armored soldiers with stern looks. Behind the table sat Prefect Arrun with a grim and tired expression. On the table was the tent’s only lightsource: a single white candle. 

Drake was dropped on the ground next to Nyl and landed face first against the dirt. It was difficult and painful but he forced himself to sit up. The half frozen mud clung to the left side of his face. Drake tried to wipe it off on his sleeve but it also smeared it out over the face, so he stopped. 

“Did he resist?” asked Arrun with an undertone of disdain. 

“No,” replied one of the soldiers. “We found him like this.”

The Prefect stayed silent as his eyes went back and forth between Nyl and Drake. Mostly his gaze fell on Nyl. After a long arduous minute of silence he straightened his back. 

“I guess I should have seen it coming. You people are dangerous.” 

Nyl tried to speak but the gag made so all that was heard was the unintelligible and muffled sound of her voice. 

“Silence witch!” yelled Arrun in such frustration he came across as a little unhinged. 

“What happened?” said Drake. His voice was weak and low.

“What?” Arrun turned his attention to Drake. “Speak up!”

“What happened?” Drake almost shouted to make sure he was heard. 

“She burnt six people alive and caused another dozen or so to go mad and attack each other.”

There was a long silence as Drake struggled to think of what to say. An idea. A sentence. A few words. His mind drew a complete blank as he tried to come up with an excuse. His stomach grumbled and instead he wished he could have some food. He’d even be happy for a small portion of mashed potatoes. 

“I’m sorry but your curse makes you a danger to those around you,” said Arrun to Nyl. “Tomorrow you’ll be hanged and then your body burnt at the stake.”

Drake could hear Nyl’s breathing grow quicker and how she slowly began to sob. With strength he didn’t thought he had, Drake crawled to the table, gripped the edge and slowly forced himself to stand up. His entire body was shaking and he barely managed to stand steady enough to not fall using both his arms. 

Prefect Arrun stared at Drake with confusion. One hand on the hilt of his dagger and the other held out to keep the soldiers in the tent to stand back for now. 

“She went to confront some men that had just beaten me and thrashed our tent. Do you think they acted nice when she confronted them?” said Drake in a firm yet weary voice. “Are you gonna execute her for acting in self defense?”

“I’d hardly call what she did self defense.”

“What do you know who was or wasn’t threatening her? And what did she kill? Six people?” Raising his voice made him realize how dry his throat was, which was followed by a dry cough. Drake forced himself to quell a followup cough so he could continue, but his voice became slightly raspy. “I know our battle mages can wipe out more than twice as many with less effort. Do you execute them as well?”

“If they start attacking people, yes.”

“Then blame me! This happened because they thought I was a traitor for going to you for help. Don’t execute my sister for something I caused.”

“This isn’t a trial of guilt. This is because of the danger she poses.”

“So you’re afraid.” Drake leaned in closer. “You’re afraid of her. You’re afraid of me. And that fear is making you walk the path of the zealot.”

That last sentence really struck a nerve as Arrun looked downright furious. His eyes were locked with Drake’s as he sat there with his right hand gripping the hilt of his dagger so tight it was almost like he was trying to break it. Yet he did not say a word or move a muscle. 

“Men! Take them away and tie them to the lashing pole.” Arrun rose pointed out of the tent. “Make sure they’re guarded from a safe distance. And summon the clerics.” 

The men grabbed Nyl and Drake and dragged them both out of the tent and deeper into camp. After several yards they came to a clearing between the tents. In the middle stood a lonely, wooden pole. They sat Drake and Nyl down on opposite sides of the pole before tying their arms together so they could not escape. Soon as the siblings were secured the soldiers backed off to the edge of the clearing. 

Behind him and out of sight Nyl was quietly sobbing. Muffled and barely audible. It was agonizing to listen to. Each sob was a knife of guilt rammed into his heart. She wouldn’t be here if not for him; for his selfish desire to get fixed. 

“Nyl...” he said, barely louder than a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

There was no answer but the sobs gradually faded till there was only quiet. 

“I’m sorry.” A long pause followed as Drake tried to find any words of comfort. “It’ll be alright. I’ll figure something out. I won’t let them execute you. You’ll be alright. I promise.” He meant those words with all his being, yet when he spoke them in his tired voice they rang hollow. What could he do? He was beaten and weak. His own mind was slipping from the exhaustion. 

No more sounds came from Nyl. He didn’t blame her. Trying to speak with a gag was rather pointless anyway. 

Eventually the cold began to creep in under his clothes. It looked like they might freeze to death before the sun rose. In which case he hoped it would be a quiet death in their sleep. 

Guilt and sorrow. The last things he remembered as he faded from the waking world. Feelings that lingered even as he walked the familiar mist covered lands of Cyre once more. Aimlessly walking on a broken road in the hope of finding Nyl. 

A dark, creeping voice echoed through the land like the whisper on a chilling breeze. It spoke in a tongue Drake could not recognize. As it spoke there was a feeling he was being followed. When the feeling became unbearable he threw a glance over his shoulder only to freeze with fright. 

The thing loomed over him like a predator in the middle of jumping over its prey. Its body was broad with two thick arms with long, sharp, bony claws for hands. Below the two thick arms several smaller, bony, twitchy ones lined the body like the legs of a centipede. It was covered in a sickly, dark pink colored, wrinkly skin. It had no head. Instead the upper part of the body was covered in an irregular spread of dark, elliptic eyes that Drake could not tell how many or which ones were looking down on him. 

With a sudden, swift movement its claw grabbed Drake around his throat and slowly lifted him up from the ground. His feet dangled as they desperately tried to touch the solid ground. His hands gripped the pincers of the claw, but the creature was too strong for him to pull them apart. His heart raced and mind was frozen with fright. 

With a snap the claw tore into his throat. The pain and shock sent Drake back to the waking world gasping for air. Realizing it was only a dream he tried to calm down. Yet he couldn't. He struggled for breath and his chest hurt. The beating of his heart was uneven. In panic he weakly began to thrash against the bindings. Trying to speak only produced groans of pain. Behind him Nyl began to scream at the top of her lungs. Despite the gag muffling her voice it was still clear that she was screaming for help. 

“Hey you! Shut up!” a Thranish soldier shouted from the side of the clearing. 

Drake tried to respond but he could not find the air to form the words. His entire body was shaking and it felt like it could shut down any second. He struggled with all his might to keep it going, but it felt like a futile attempt that only prolonged the inevitable. 

Just as he thought he would die he saw Agelia kneel down besides him. She placed a hand on his chest and she spoke an incantation. As she spoke Drake felt his heart slow down and resume its regular rhythm. His lungs could breathe the cold air again. 

“It’s alright. I’m here,” she said in a soft tone. 

“There was something…” he whispered, still struggling to form words. “Something in my dream. It attacked me.”

Agelia suddenly looked a lot more worried. “What did it look like?”

Drake had to pause to take a couple of deep breaths. His lungs really needed to air. “It had large claws. No head… yet many eyes. Dozens of... little bony arms.”

She pursed her lips as the cogs in her mind visibly turned. After a long moment she returned her focus to Drake. “Thank you, for telling me. I… I’ll try to get you a proper bed to sleep in.” It took a second before she noticed Nyl. “Both of you,” she added. 

Drake gave her a light nod before closing his eyes. His body was sweaty and the cold of the night was starting to get to him even more. He could hear Agelia’s footsteps as she walked away. Soon the only thing that could be heard was a soft breeze that shilled him to the bone. 

“Nyl?” he said as loud as he could, which was barely louder than a whisper. 

“Hmm?” he heard her muffled voice say. 

“Are you okay?”

“Hmm,” she mumbled in a way that sounded positive.

“Good…” he whispered so quietly only the gods could hear. 

Drake had never been a religious person. Prayer had never been something he did. The Sovereign Host had only ever been in the background of his life. Though in this moment when all his strength was spent he whispered a prayer to each of the Sovereigns. For mercy to be given to Nyl, and for strength so that they may carry on. Though he saved one last prayer to Onatar, the Sovereign of Fire and Forge: to be granted the tools of an artificer. 

After he had beseeched each of the Sovereigns he heard several footsteps coming towards them. Opening his eyes Drake saw four guards marching. One of them had a small, lit lantern hanging from his belt. Without a word they untied the two siblings and then dragged them through the camp again. After a while Drake recognized where they were as he saw the familiar banner clad tent of Agelia. Though the soldiers did not take them to her tent. Instead they dragged them into the tent next to hers. 

Inside were eight beds lined up. All of them empty. Without much care or gentleness they dumped each sibling on each of the two closest beds. As Drake tried to get comfortable one soldier grabbed his wrist and locked a shackle around it. The other end was locked to the corner pole holding up the tent. Drake heard them shackling Nyl as well. After that the soldiers swiftly marched out of the tent.

To his annoyance the chain of the shackle was too short for him to pull down his arm besides his body. He had to leave the hand slightly above his head. Feeling the chain’s weight pulling at the wrist as well was pouring more sand on his gears. At the very least he could wrap himself in a blanket again. 

He tried to look at how Nyl was. It was so dark yet he could vaguely make out her shadowy outline. She was in an even more uncomfortable position than him with her arms still shackled behind her back and her ankle instead shackled to the tent.

“It’ll be alright Nyl. I promise.” His voice was so low she might not even hear him. 

No response came. Drake wasn’t about to repeat himself. Better to let Nyl sleep. He should try to catch some rest as well. Yet after the nightmare attack that had almost killed him his mind wasn’t eager to return to the dreaming world. Instead he lied in bed with his eyes closed, feeling time slowly pass as his body and mind slowly became more tired while the lingering fear kept him awake. 

When the sun was starting to rise on the horizon Drake felt delirious. No sleep. No food. His body was too tired to scream in hunger and his stomach felt empty. His mind struggled to form coherent thoughts. He might pass out during the day. Maybe not the worst that could happen. At least he’d get some sleep in that case. 

Some time after dawn a Thrane soldier came in with a tray on which two pieces of bread and mugs filled with water was. He put the tray down by the entrance and was about to leave before Drake shouted after him, “Hey! We’re tied up! We can’t reach that!”

“I got orders-”

“Go tell Prefect Arrun to change those orders then!”

There was a long moment of silence before the soldier spat back, “Fine.”

Less than a minute later someone peeked their head into the tent. For the blink of an eye Drake thought it was the soldier returning and was ready to shout at him some more. Instead it was Agelia looking into the tent with curious eyes. 

“You’re awake. Good.”

“What is going on?” asked Drake in a gruff tone. The sleep deprivation had sapped much of his manners. 

“Prefect Ghastor has agreed to… reconsider his stance. Right now we are sending a report to the Bishop in Aruldusk along with a request for orders on what to do.”

“So the decision - and the responsibility - has been moved further up.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I’m not sure. Bishop Maellas is wise. Though he does not like certain... deviants.”

“Like?”

“Shifters primarily.”

“Those half-were-folk?”

Agelia nodded. “Though I’m sure he’ll give you two a fair judgement.”

“Hmm.”

Agelia looked like she was about to say something when the soldier returned into the tent. He gave the cleric a confused look before going to unshackle Drake and Nyl from the tent poles. Though instead of completely removing the shackles he reattached them around their ankles. The chains were short enough that walking wouldn’t be too much of an issue. Running would however be impossible. Not that either of them had the energy to make a run for it. 

The soldiers did not unlock Nyl shackles restraining her hands. Though she did not seem to care. She lied in her bed staring off against the far side of the tent, motionless and without making a sound. 

“I’ll leave you two to rest,” said Agelia before going back to her tent. 

Drake went and picked up the tray before sitting down on the corner of Nyl’s bed. “Nyl?” he said and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off. A small unintentional sigh escaped him. He didn’t know what to say. 

After a moment of silence he tried to untie her gag. Despite the knot being a simple one it was tightened quite hard. His fingers were shaking and weak. More due to perseverance than skill or strength did he finally manage to undo the knot. Yet Nyl remained quiet. 

“Here,” he gently poked her arm with a piece of bread. 

“I’m not hungry,” she murmured. 

“We both know that’s not true.”

“You can have it. I hate that bread.”

“I know. But you should still eat.”

“Better if you eat it. I might still… They…” Her voice broke off as it became clear she was trying her best not to cry. 

“I won’t let that happen. I promise.”

“Don’t promise what you can’t keep,” her voice was bitter and a little more steady. 

“Won’t stop me from trying.”

After a long, silent minute Nyl slowly turned around till she lied on her side facing Drake. Without her hands he had to slowly feed her the piece of hard bread. At least she ate. He ate his piece as well. Still so hard it needed to be shewed just to break off a bite. The water was soothing as it washed away the foul bread taste and coarse wooden texture. 

“Have you…” said Nyl before trailing off and becoming quiet for a long moment. “Have you had any… strange nightmares before?”

Drake hesitated for a few seconds. “Hmm. All my nightmares ever since Cyre have been about either me hurting you or your hurting me.”

“In my dreams you either die or leave me. Then the… men would… come into the tent and…” her voice got lower and lower till it was only a whisper.

“You don’t need to explain.” Drake put his hand on her shoulder. This time she didn’t shake it off. 

“Do you…” said Nyl after a long moment of silence. “Do you think what attacked you… in your dreams is what… what’s been causing our nightmares?”

“I don’t know. But it would explain the strange repetitiveness.”

“Do you think it will attack again?” 

“I hope not. Though if you see a big monster with claws and many eyes, try to punch it.”

Nyl let out a small, halfhearted chuckle. “I will.” 

They remained still for a long moment. No words. No movement. Drake’s hand remained on her shoulder and Nyl kept staring off into the distance. After what felt like an hour Drake decided to head back to his bed. As soon as he took his hand off her she looked up at him.

“Promise me one thing.”

“What?” 

“Promise you’ll never leave me.”

“I promise.”


	9. Restless

The first day on the Thrane side of camp was shaping up to be a dull one, to both Drake’s surprise and relief. More irritatingly though they weren’t allowed to leave the tent unless it was to go to the latrines. Even then they ardently refused to unlock Nyl’s shackles. Thus it fell to Drake to help her pull up her coat and pull down her pants in the latrine stall. A task both found to be uncomfortable and during which both keenly avoided any eye contact. 

Nyl was rather quiet throughout the day. Any attempt from Drake to get her to speak about what had happened when she went after those men was met with silence. After the third attempt he gave up. 

Trying to find a more cheery subject matter was difficult. Joking about Tira Miron was out of the question now that they were among the Thranes. Trying to think of something fun from home became an easy reminder of what they’ve lost. Everything was rusted scrap. 

Eventually his mind instead wandered to the creature in his dreams. The horrid thing that had attacked him had looked unnatural in every way. Was it a demon, a daelkyr or something else? Agelia had seemed to recognize his description of it last night. With nothing else to do Drake made his way to her tent. Outside the soldiers that stood guard (at a minimum of ten feet distance from their tent) stared at him with suspicious eyes. Drake was so used to it by now that it barely scratched his gears.

He found Agelia kneeling atop a small carpet in front of her shrine. She was looking up at the tent roof when Drake stepped in. Her gaze dropped down in disappointment as she heard him enter. 

“Couldn’t you have asked before entering?” she said, clearly annoyed at the interruption. 

“What?” Drake had completely forgotten about such manners in his tired state. “Oh, sorry.”

As Agelia heard and then turned to see it was him her expression became slightly more sympathetic, though the irritation lingered on her face. “You look horrible. You should get some rest.”

“Yeah. About that…”

Agelia sighed before she got up, went over to sit on her chair and gestured for Drake to take a seat on her bed. “I understand that you are afraid. But I’m in the tent right next to yours now.”

Drake hesitated before sitting down himself. “What was that thing?”

“Some kind of alien evil. It tampers with people’s dreams for some unknown reason. We don’t really know what it is. I’ve never heard of it attacking people like it did you. But generally when it’s been found out it disappears. I’m guessing being aware of it makes it harder for it to tamper with dreams.”

“So it won't return?”

Agelia made a slightly painful expression and averted her eyes. “It’s highly unlikely it will. There have been instances of it returning after some time.”

“Great…” Drake hung his head, worried the thing might try to kill him again that night. Or worse, attack Nyl. 

“Don’t worry. Just scream in case something happens.”

“Hmm. I’ll try to remember that. Thanks.” A small sigh escaped Drake as he got up. 

“I’m just doing my duty.” She gave him a smile that was half genuine and half forced. 

Drake thought that could be said for Arrun as well. Sadly that man didn’t share Agelia’s interpretation of duty. Though of course Arrun was a soldier first while Agelia was a cleric. 

Somewhere during the afternoon Drake noticed that his clothes had been torn in a few places. Luckily he still had his lodestones. Some spellcasting later his clothes were whole again. Though the dirt he couldn’t do anything about. He wondered if the camp had a cleansing stone somewhere. 

When night came Drake had a hard time falling asleep, despite the exhaustion. Would he be attacked again? Would he survive? What if Nyl was attacked? All these questions and variations of them circulated through his head till the waking world released its grip on him. When he awoke the next morning to a Thrane soldier dropping off their breakfast and Drake found no memory of any dreams he felt a sense of respite. Till he remembered Nyl and hurriedly sat up in the bed. As he saw her slowly stirring from sleep he could finally breathe a full sigh of relief. 

This time Nyl ate her breakfast without any fuss. Though she still remained quiet and her face was blank as she stared off into the distance. She became otherwise largely unresponsive. Which only added the hopeless atmosphere that hung over them. 

Around noon Drake turned around in the bed and felt the loose piece of crystal in his pocket. With nothing else to do he picked it up and began to examine it more closely. Still the same as before. His curiosity grew. Pulling up his left sleeve revealed a relatively large crystal had grown on his forearm. He held up the piece to the outgrowth and he saw that the mist moved continuously between the two. It was like if the crystal was a window into another world. Yet when he moved the crystal in his hand the mist inside it didn’t shift relative to the movement. 

After growing tired of trying to make sense of how the mist inside it shifted he got another idea. Perhaps it was dangerous. Probably not. Better be careful though. With as steady a hand as he could he gently tapped the piece against the outgrowth. As soon as the two crystals touched there was a faint, clear sound. Most surprisingly was a couple of tiny green sparks that came flying out of the impact. It was such a surprise that Drake recoiled a little. He tapped again and more tiny sparks came. Could these sparks start a fire or were they simply sparks of harmless light? Just to be safe Drake moved his arm outside the bed so any flying sparks would only hit cold dirt. With a little more force he struck the two crystals together. This time not only sparks but a small green flame danced out from the impact point. He could feel the heat of the flame, both on the skin and on the crystal. Striking the crystal repeatedly gave the same result. And the harder he struck the more flame the impact produced. 

“What are you doing?” asked Ny as she was looking over her shoulder at him. 

There was a short pause as Drake tried to find proper words. “Experimenting.”

“Please don’t. We’re already in trouble as is.” The tone of her voice was dull and monotone, like if she didn’t really care. 

A small sigh escaped Drake. “Alright.” He pocketed the crystal and shifted back into bed. 

Not long later his restless mind returned to ponder the nature of the crystal. Taking it out of his pocket he inspected it again. It was part of him somehow. The mist beneath the surface was unmistakably part of what had destroyed Cyre. Was he a window to the wicked magic covering his homeland? Or was this a piece of the mist that was separate from the greater one? Hopefully it was the latter. The former had some unsettling implications. 

During the coming weeks Drake experimented with the crystal piece whenever he found himself too bored. Which was very often. It turned out that when rubbed together the crystals produced a grey mist. Luckily it faded away as soon as he stopped rubbing them together. Squeezing the crystal hard caused it to leak a green liquid. It was also when squeezing the crystal piece that he found out one edge was quite sharp as with one little slip it cut through his glove and into his finger. The green liquid seeped into his wound and closed it, leaving no trace that it had ever happened other than the cut in the glove (which was easily repaired with the mending spell). Further testing showed that the liquid had a enhancing effect on the fire and mist generated by the crystals. Tests that almost set his bed on fire and filled the tent with mist. After which he had to postpone all testing as the Thrane soldiers were starting to notice. 

The nights seemed to return to some kind of normality. Drake still had nightmares. Though these lacked the artificial feel the ones before had had. It brought him a strange sense of comfort; a small glimmer that he could hold onto when the nightmares filled his mind with images of a ruined Eston, along with all the dead that lay there. 

Somewhere during the third week when spring was finally starting to bring some warmth to the land he heard the voice of Arrun shouting in anger from inside Agelia’s tent. Curious and eager to find anything to fill the void of boredom Drake decided to listen in. Luckily both tent walls were practically pressed together into one so he could carefully lift up both at once. 

“-is affecting them,” said Agelia in a defensive tone. 

“From what Drego told me they cannot be fixed!” 

“We don’t know that for sure. I think it is worth a try. If it works you won’t have to worry about them anymore.”

“What you’ve requested isn’t cheap. If I authorize it, it will be on my record. Also the fact that you tried to go behind my back about this...”

“I didn’t know it would require your approval.”

“You’ve been in the army long enough that you should.” There was a short pause and Arrun lowered his voice. “And don’t think I haven’t read the report about your transfer. I know why you’re trying to do this.”

“That has nothing to do with this,” said Agelia in a calm and firm tone.

“So I’m to assume your habit of doting on boys less than a third your age has nothing to do with that boy?”

Drake found being called a boy a little offensive. Especially now that his beard was getting rather bushy. There was a small urge to shout out at Arrun. Despite that it would be a fun interjection that could deflate Arrun’s argument, Drake decided against it as that would undoubtedly get him in trouble. 

“What I did during my time on the front does not concern you.”

“The army got rules.”

“I never took a vow of celibacy.”

“You’re an opportunist and a fucking disgrace!”

“Yet the Silver Flame still favors me more than it does you.”

Another moment of silence before Arrun said something in such a low tone Drake couldn’t make out the words. Though the fury in his voice was hard to miss. Soon as Arrun was done speaking he stormed out of Agelia’s tent. Drake quickly and carefully lowered the tent walls to hide any trace of that he had been eavesdropping. 

As Drake lied down he began to ponder the implication of what he had heard. While it seemed that Agelia might not have had the purest of intentions he found himself not really caring. He felt that it should bother him in some sense though. That it should spur some feeling of betrayal or disgust. Yet it seemed so insignificant compared to the sword Arrun had hung above his and Nyl’s heads. The notion that Drake despite his cursed and scarred appearance could have evoked any such feelings instead gave a small sense of comfort. There was also the possibility that Arrun was wrong in his assumptions. It can’t have been pleasant to be on the frontline. Thrane had always had the ally with Breland to have a chance against Cyre. He wouldn’t blame her if she had tried to find comfort in those frontline trenches. 

Gil was going to be in such trenches himself, fixing up warforged for the crown. It was probably good that he didn’t get to go there before the mist came. At least he got to die in his home surrounded by his family rather in some faraway, dirty, man made ditch on some accursed field. 

The same could not be said about Drake’s dad that likely lied dead among his coworkers in the Cannith forges. Their mom lying alone in the café kitchen. All that destruction and death. Why was it so hard to let go? Every time he thought about any part of his home the memories of how it was all ripped from him came flooding back and sorrow washed away all other emotions. 

It became increasingly tempting to experiment some more with the crystal to take his mind off the painful memories. Too bad he couldn’t aim the effects. Using some Thrane soldiers as test subjects could be interesting. If he only had a simple workbench, some tools and some scrap. Maybe he could get them to lend him some if he said he was a normal tinkerer that wanted to help. Though they thought he was a d’Cannith, and pretty much all d’Cannith were artificers. Few people would be ignorant about the consequences of giving tools to an artificer. Agelia would know. Perhaps she would be gullible enough to help him anyway. 

Seeing that he had little to nothing to lose on trying he went to her tent. “Agelia?” he said from outside. 

“Yes, come in.” She sounded bored. Though there was a weary undertone, one that hinted that Arrun’s words had left an effect on her. 

Drake entered to see her sitting on her chair in front of her shrine, with her chin resting on her hands and her elbows resting on her knees. She slowly straightened her back and threw a glance over her shoulder at Drake. Her eyes were telling him she was expecting him to speak first.

“I… I am wondering if there is any tinkering I could help with. I got nothing to do during the days anyway.”

“I highly doubt Prefect Ghastor would allow that.”

Drake hesitated. “I was hoping you could circumvent him.”

Agelia let out a hollow chuckle. “Sorry.”

A small sigh escaped him. “It’s alright.” 

“How much did you hear?” she asked as Drake was about to turn and leave.

Drake hesitated for a moment and kept his face turned facing out of the tent, afraid that she might see through him. “Something about something being expensive and not working.”

It was her time to let out a heavy sigh. “Hmm.”

For several seconds Drake lingered in the tent as he expected Agelia to say something more. When she didn’t he quietly left and went back to his bed. 

Arrun was getting more and more in the way. Perhaps it would be best if he was removed. But how? An accident perhaps. If Drake had a homunculus he could probably set up something. But to make one he’d need the tools and materials that Arrun was denying him. 

After a while Drake’s mind snapped out of it. He was planning cold blooded murder. For what? His and Nyl’s lives were no longer in Arrun’s hands. If he had the tools he could at most break their shackles and facilitate their escape. But an escape would mean a lot more people than Arrun would be in their way. Was he plotting murder as a way to fill the time? Drake began to truly hate this place. It was slowly grinding him down. His mind. His body. His morals. Yet all he could do was stay put and try to think of something else. 

More weeks passed by. The waiting became more and more unbearable. It wasn’t only Drake that was becoming agonizingly restless. Soldiers could occasionally be heard complaining. He could even hear on a few of occasions the refugees gathering in protests at the border between the two camps. Something the Thrane soldiers then had to contain. Though an all out brawl never became a problem. Instead Drake found himself on occasion waking up in the middle of the night to the alarm of refugees trying to escape. The whole place felt increasingly like a prison. 

Agelia visited their tent a few times to cast some spells and examine the crystals. With the only other woman Drake saw being Nyl, Agelia started to look like the last woman on Eberron. Something that slowly made her look more attractive than Drake felt comfortable admitting to himself. Though she never made any advances. Which oddly enough left Drake feeling somehow rejected. 

When Drake asked where the women soldiers were she answered that they had their own camp closer to Angwar Keep. Though gender segregation didn’t apply to the clerics in the army strangely enough. 

One day when on the way to the latrines Drake spotted a small, foldable shaving knife laying on a small table besides a mirror. A rather well made knife with the Silver Flame inlaid into the handle. While Drake’s beard had gotten quite bushy his mind was focused on the crystals. A knife could also be useful to have. He threw a quick look around. No soldier was looking in his direction. Feeling the coast was clear Drake snatched and folded the knife before quickly tucking it away in his pocket. He threw a quick second look around to make sure no one had seen him before continuing on to do his little business. 

Back in his tent Drake found that the blade was too thin to have any real force put behind it in order to cut into the crystal. It barely managed to scratch the surface when he ran the blade against the glass-like surface. It barely hurt. Despite being slightly disappointed Drake found some comfort in that he now at least had a blade. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to use it for anything other than cutting hair. 

Later he heard a small commotion as a Thrane soldier loudly accused another of stealing his knife. A shouting match erupted, which then turned into a small brawl. While listening to it a small smile crept onto Drake’s lips. 


End file.
